Until Then
by KatherineASchwarz
Summary: The First Great War brews on, and the clash of ideals and error in judgement can leave everything in ruins. But not everything can be written in a history book: the story of Anna Wilson and those around her, as they grow up, learn about magic and themselves, and fall in love. All would fight for the ones they love, but it could be their ultimate demise.
1. Prologue

**PRESENT: A Midday of November.**

"The events that we were forced to accept have been traumatic, at least," he said in his usual way, definite, not pausing over a word but getting the sentence out as though he were reading from a book that was already written. Then again, perhaps this whole world was already written somewhere; he had the burden of getting access to it.

"But if there is a lesson that time teaches us, it is that it does not wait for us. We must keep up with her, for she waits for no one," Dumbledore was looking at each and every one of us gravely. I could hear James fidgeting next to me, uncomfortable with a serious topic, and Lily holding his hand in hers, little Harry sitting restlessly on her lap, looking curiously around. Sirius was looking out the window, probably pretending to be absorbed in a Quidditch practice. Remus was regarding his tea cup thoughtfully. Emotionless, I sat on the same stool that I remembered sitting five years ago on that blasted day, when I had said yes. Yes to fate, to law, to justice.

No to him. To life.

"This is a difficult time for all of us. The war has ended, of course, Voldemort defeated and his followers captured every day, but we cannot heal from so deep a wound. Every one is suffering from the aftermath of this significant phase in history and we, too, must endure as the rest." Dumbledore's voice did not change throughout the speech, his blue eyes behind his spectacles meeting ours calmly. I managed to meet his direct gaze when it was directed to me; but I found myself unable to hold it out for long.

"In the spirit of picking ourselves up and dusting ourselves off, I have called all of you to sort out several legal matters." Dumbledore then drew some rolls of parchment from his drawer.

"As you know, Mr. Potter, your estate is in the process of reconstruction," Dumbledore said, sounding almost cheerful.

"Yes," James managed to say, caught off-guard.

"You are planning to, however, meanwhile reside in Godric's Hollow?"

"Yes," this time, both Lily and James answered.

"Good... as for the promised good..." then Dumbledore produced a shiny material, sleek to touch, and more ancient than most books in Hogwarts. James' eyes lit up for the first time since he entered the office. Even Sirius perked up from his slouching state, and Remus smiled his small smile, amused at his friends' antiques. Dumbledore chuckled lightly.

"Finally!" James cried, actually standing up to receive his beloved cloak. Immediately, he drew it around him, and his body was enclosed in the cloak, invisible. Harry, understandably surprised, yelped on Lily's lap, and even Lily cracked a smile at this.

"Look, Harry! Look at Daddy!" James said, doing a jiggly dance with his head, making him seem only slightly less grotesque than Nearly Headless Nick. Harry clapped, delighted.

"I believe that the danger of you sneaking out for a bit of fresh air has now passed... although I do have some misgivings about giving it back, with another Potter soon arriving at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said lightly.

"Harry will be nothing like James," Lily said immediately and I felt my lips turn slightly upward, amused at the determination in Lily's voice and a sheepish offended look that James gave her.

"Now Remus," Dumbledore continued, "the contents of your father's will was rather straightforward, as you may have already heard. Your family's house is to go to you, with money in Gringotts under your family's name."

"I have been informed," Remus said quietly.

"Have you found a job yet?" Dumbledore asked, straightforward.

"I am afraid that I haven't," was his calm reply. James' and Sirius' lips thinned slightly, the only display of disapproval that Remus has grown to tolerate from them over the years.

"If you are interested, of course, and this is a mere suggestion," Dumbledore said, slower than his usual pace, "I do believe that we are in need of a new Defense of the Dark Arts teacher."

Remus looked up completely from his tea, evidently surprised.

"Now, I don't think that we shall need to worry about the infamous jinx that goes along with the title any longer... No, what we need is an intelligent man, informed in this field of study, perhaps a bit of experience in the subject matter as well, and passionate about helping the young and the future of our society..." Dumbledore trailed off. Remus looked at him, and then each one of us, trying hard, as we all could see, to contain his excitement.

"But, Albus, I don't think that the parents would be comfortable with a werewolf teaching their children-" Remus said, trying to be rational before reacting emotionally as he always does, trying to downsize himself.

"On the other hand, I think they would find it very reassuring that a member of the Order was teaching their children," James interrupted loudly. "At least, I know you wouldn't mess up Harry's education."

"You can't be worse than our second year teacher, what was his name...?" Sirius frowned comically, trying to recall.

"Hollthorn," Lily supplied. "Remus would be superb, Sirius, compared to him or not. I think it would be great, Remus, if you took this position." Then everyone looked at my direction, expecting me to say something. I opened my lips, hoping that my voice wasn't cracked from lack of use.

"You once told me that you wanted to do some good in this world," I said slowly. "This is, I think, the second best way to do that, and seeing as you have already done the first, mate, I'd say you really have no choice."

Remus smiled faintly at me.

"I'll accept," he said to Dumbledore, sounding more confident than before.

"We'll be discussing his holidays and salaries, of course," Sirius said, drawing closer to the desk. "Merlin knows Remus knows nothing about negotiating."

"Don't worry, mate, we've got your back," James said to Remus. Dumbledore looked at the trio, his eyes twinkling.

"We'll talk about this later," he said. "Now-"

"Albus!" came a sharp knock from his door. "Albus!"

"Come in, Poppy," Dumbledore replied genially. Madame Pomfrey came in. she wasn't different from the last time I had seen her, right after the war-gray hair tied sanitarily into a bun, a white apron that never seemed to go out of her style.

"I came to tell you, Albus, that the patient is stirring-" Madame Pomfrey started excitedly before she noticed all of us in the office.

"Oh," she said quite simply.

"Say hello, Harry," Lily said automatically, a go-to response that she adopted whenever a new adult was in the room. She grasped her son's small hand and waved to Madame Pomfrey.

"Hello, Harry," Madame Pomfrey said rather weakly. She turned once again to Dumbledore, seeming preoccupied.

"Thank you, Poppy," Dumbledore said, a slight dismissive tone in his voice.

"Of course," Madame Pomfrey said. Her eyes flickered uncertainly toward me. I looked back at her, puzzled.

"The thing is, Albus-" she began hesitantly, then her words came out quite fast. "He's still quite delirious, poor thing, and he keeps thrashing about like he's still trying to escape! And he's asking for someone-"

"I will be there presently," Dumbledore said. Madame Pomfrey nodded and exited without further comment. We all muttered our good-byes to the closed door.

"Is there someone in the Hospital Wing, Albus?" Lily asked worriedly.

"Some patients were too delicate to be sent to the St. Mungo's, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said.

"Remus wouldn't be working during the summer as well, would he be?" Sirius asked.

"Because that's why we're here," James added gravely.

"Only if he chooses to, Sirius-and you may find that a teacher's concern for a student can go a long way. However, I was about to bring up another will." He took up the parchment that he'd taken out from his drawer.

"Mr. Regulus Black, as you may remember him, has left all of you several of his belongings," Dumbledore said gravely. We all looked at each other, confused. My heart leaped for the first time since entering the office. This was why we were called, then, to distribute his possessions-as if I needed yet another reminder. I could feel everyone else's eyes on me, or perhaps they were on Sirius, but I looked straight ahead, stiffening my back a little more, just for some extra support.

I can do this.

Because I would have to do this for the rest of my life.

"Wait, that prat left his will to be carried on by you?" Sirius asked incredulously. "He's got his own people to do that."

"I believe, Mr. Black, that Regulus felt that some of his will's contents would be ignored, had it been left to his family's lawyers." Dumbledore replied. "Considering the time when the will was written, I would say that it is hardly surprising that he felt so."

Sirius leaned against one of the many cabinets, harrumphing.

"To my brother," Dumbledore began to read, " I leave my broom with which I have won the Quidditch Cup of the 1978."

"Merlin, I'm starting to remember why I hate that kid," James muttered under his breath.

"James!" Lily said admonishingly.

"In belief that he was always much a bigger Quidditch fan that I ever was-he is the only one that I trust to take care of it properly." Dumbledore went on.

"To Mr. James Charlus Potter and Mrs. Lily Evans Potter, I leave my old collection of the Magik Volks, as they would soon need a copy to read to their son and further progeny."

"What is the Magik Volks collection?" Lily asked.

"Ah, of course-" from his desk he drew up several leather-bound books, their edges worn with wear and use, but their titles still visible in its original golden ink, and handed them to her. Then he indicated to Sirius the broom that rested against one of the cabinets, and Sirius slowly approached it as though it were a sleeping dragon.

"It's a children's book!" Lily exclaimed, sounding surprised and rather pleased. Harry pointed his pudgy fingers at the delicate illustrations.

"Almost every magical family has a copy. The Potters used to have one, of course." James' voice turned sour. "Oh, right! I forgot! He burnt down my entire manor! Along with the book!"

"Clearly he remembered doing that, James," Lily said. "Why else would he give these to us?"

I watched them, uncertain whether I should display any emotion or not. Sirius was gingerly sweeping his finger along the broom, searching for cracks and splinters. I knew he wouldn't find any, just as I knew that Regulus would not have bequeathed his books to James and Lily unless he meant to do so. He thought that children's books were the epitome of magic, how every wizard and witch forms their identity. Naturally, he had great fondness for his own collection. His affection for his broom was infamous, bordering on, as the Slytheirn Quidditch team had once told me, madness, rivaled only by his love for his girlfriend. Regulus had given up his broom also.

Just another painful reminder that he was truly-

"To Remus John Lupin, I leave my quill and a bottle of black ink, knowing that he would make the best use of his words. I hope he would pardon the Black seal on the ink bottle-it cannot be helped." Dumbledore produced a long, thick, elegant looking quill and a shining crystal ink bottle in which black ink circled like dark wine. Remus accepted them quietly, looking thoughtful.

"To Adrianna Charlotte Wilson, I leave my wooden box located in front of the wardrobe in my room." Dumbledore looked up from Regulus' will, adjusting his spectacles.

"That's it?" James asked.

"That's it," Dumbledore said.

"No... drama?" James repeated.

"None. Although, there was some dispute about the Grimmauld Place and the account at Gringotts. Mrs. Black, Regulus decided, should have full control over the family property until her death, after which Regulus wished that they would pass over to you, Sirius." All eyes turned to Sirius, who, until now, had been cradling the broom in his arms, looking distantly at the lake from the windowsill.

"I don't want the house nor the money," Sirius spat, but his heart was yet to be in it.

"Understandably. However, Regulus was insistent that a Black property should be owned by a Black male," Dumbledore said, his voice tranquil.

"I don't want the goddammed inheritance," Sirius said loudly, standing up from the windowsill. His right hand clutched the broom tightly, and both of his hands were shaking.

"Padfoot-" James began placatingly, but Sirius' pale cheeks were becoming redder, an ominous sign.

"I-said-I-don't-WANT IT!" He shouted. "I don't want to go back to that blasted place or want the dirty money, okay? Well, he went ahead and screwed himself HARD, eh? He can do whatever he likes! I TOLD him! HE WOULDN'T LISTEN! NOW HE'S DEAD!" Suddenly, he seemed to regain himself. Sirius looked around, his eyes lost, never focusing on one thing. I thought I saw tears glistening in his eyes, refusing to fall.

"Oh, Merlin, he's dead..." he whispered, as though struck by the reality for the first time. He walked quickly across the office and left, barely closing the door behind him. We sat in uncomfortable silence, Harry's curious murmuring the only sound hitting the air.

"He'll recover, he always has," James said uncertainly.

"We'll get through this," Lily said, but she was looking at me. I couldn't look at her in the eyes.

"You'll find the box at home, Anna," Dumbledore said, his voice neither unkind nor kind. I nodded without speaking. Dumbledore stood up. Automatically, we all stood up.

"It was lovely seeing you again, James, Lily, of course, Harry-" Professor let his purple sleeve be grabbed and pulled by Harry, who seemed to find the astronomical pattern fascinating. He chuckled. "Even though this was not the most pleasant of occasions to meet."

"We were thinking, Albus, of throwing a Christmas party at the Manor-we heard that the reconstruction shouldn't take too long from now. We would love it if you came," Lily said, smiling. I couldn't help but note with faint amusement and envy her use of 'we'; despite everything they've been through, even though they came out of this very scratched, bleeding, tired, they still had 'we.'

I had only myself.

"But of course," Dumbledore said. The Potters smiled, waved at me and Remus, and left, Lily trying to keep Harry from messing Dumbledore's stuff and James secretly encouraging him.

"Lovely seeing you, Albus," Remus said. "When can I start the job? Surely, the current professor-"

"Is resigning, I'm afraid. He felt that, as the war had ended, he could have happier pursuits in life. I believe that he's currently in search for veelas in southern France." Remus and Dumbledore both chuckled wryly.

"'Course," Remus said.

"I'll send you a notice within a few day. In the meantime, however, farewell." Remus nodded and left.

"Good-bye, Professor." I said quietly. "Until later."

"Until later, Anna," Dumbledore said, looking at me sadly. "Remember, that there's only later-never earlier."

I considered his words, and without a further reply, left.

* * *

A black wooden box adorned with silver and emeralds was sitting on the coffee table portentously. It almost seemed to have been waiting for me, with its surface gleaning strangely under the electric light, as if it wished to be opened, to be spilled, to reveal its contents and secrets. I slumped unceremoniously on the kitchen stool, my legs giving way. Devoid of any company or pitying gazes, I suddenly felt very tired.

I was... thankful for their care and their interest in my well-being. Some may call it love and affection. Yet, I did not wish to think of any emotions in those terms. I needed distance, some time to think and sort things out before I submerged myself in the society again, time to reprioritize and rethink some things. This was difficult, the position I was in, to have lost my family, my love-yet many people have lost the ones they loved in the war. I was hardly an exceptional case.

But my training refused to kick in. The inner strength that propelled me to go on at the worst of times, to fight in the three feet snow and pouring rain, to endure bone-twisting tortures and maddening hunger, had snapped, without my will nor my intentions. Since I had discovered that he was _dead..._

He was dead. Really, Sirius wasn't the one fooling himself. I was. I could hardly say his name out loud without cringing, without making a great effort to do so. I could hardly wake up in the morning and get out of bed without my knees shaking horribly, without thinking how I was supposed to survive this world and live a life that was devoid of his presence.

No, that was not quite right. He was everywhere, every glance I made, at every corner and walls, in the sky, his breath tickling my hear sweetly as they used to when we were both young and had no sense of direction, when things, despite every disagreement we had and every problems that were thrown at us, were going to be all right.

I sat and stared at the box, unfeeling.

Neither curiosity nor uncertainty crept to my brain. Whatever he could present me with, I knew it wouldn't surprise me. I knew most things he had, and some things we shared were still imprinted in my brain, making their missing presence known. Uncertainty... I knew what he felt, what he believed in.

But I didn't know what happened after we had grown apart.

Seized by a sudden need for comfort, a wish to understand and enter a familiar territory, perhaps contradictory in themselves and yet so not mutually exclusive, I dropped to my knees from my chair and crawled to the coffee table. My hands were shaking badly as my fingers traced the lines of the seams, trying to find the lock. The I realized that there was no lock of any kind. I couldn't take my eyes off the black shine, feeling somehow possessed by my memories, the survival instinct that held me this long.

"_Alohomora_," I whispered. The box opened, the lid breaking a invisible seal. I peered inside, my breath coming out erratically.

Diaries. Diaries after diaries after diaries, all stacked into a one neat pile. He liked to write, although he insisted that he was no good at it at all. He would've made a fine essayist, I used to believe, if he had ideas. And he always had plenty of them, some of them radical, some of them ridiculously, so endearingly traditional.

Then there was the green scarf that I had once jokingly draped around his neck. Rare notes that we'd passed in class. Some tokens that we had exchanged over the years: postcards that I had sent him, misplaced quills-had he picked all of them up?- a button that I had once mended on his robe, postcards that I had sent him, Chocolate Frog cards, letters, all those letters, bound neatly with a thin strong cord...

I gave up searching to the bottom of the box and labeling all of the items inside. Instead, desperately, I picked up a diary that seemed to be the oldest and began to read, word to word, every page, top to bottom.

A hot teardrop fell, unknown to me, landed on the leaf, and intermixed with the ink that was once traced by Regulus Black.


	2. Chapter 1

**Hogwarts! Today. Today I got a letter from Hogwarts.**

**Sirius has gotten one, of course. He's rather disgruntled that his little brother is in the same year as him. Ah, well. What can I do. I suppose I'll have much more chance to get on his nerves.**

**Mother&Father are pleased, though hardly surprised. It **_**was**_** expected. We have received the invitation from the Beaubaxtons **_**weeks**_** ago, but, as tradition-Hogwarts it is.**

**I know it's very unmannerly of me to show it, but personally v. excited. Diagon Alley! Finally I can get my wand-go to Flourish&Blotts and actually buy a book I need-my own wand! Kreature has sensed this in me, I'm afraid and glad to say, and snuck me some chocolate eclairs into my room to celebrate this momentous day. How nice of him! **

**Good-bye, Grimmauld Place! Years of magical learning beckons!**

* * *

Anna Wilson was running down the street, sobbing.

It was a fine August evening in an unnamed town, and Anna Wilson ran with all the might her eleven-year-old heart could carry. She didn't bother to look back to see if any of Joseph Skinner's _friends_ were following her. It hardly mattered now—she was almost home.

She panted, and her sobs came out in heaves. Anna stopped for a moment, clutching her knees and doubling over. Tears wouldn't stop flowing from her eyes, but she didn't wipe them, seeing no use. They were old tears, anyway, and she doubted that they would be the last. Such were her bitter thoughts as she entered her house, not noticing a tabby cat that was sitting so still on her front porch, regarding her with intelligence that was not altogether feline. The cat turned its head as Anna passed by sniffling.

"Mommy?" Anna said in a small voice, and her voice carried itself out through the small house, echoing the old hallways. It was Saturday—yes, that's why she was out on the playground in the first place—so mommy would be home. She wouldn't be held up at work, like usual.

"Mommy?" she said again, entering her mother's study.

Her mother, to her relief, was indeed there, and Anna, without speaking, ran to her and pulled herself onto her lap. Sophia Wilson, who had just looked up from her textbook, was startled for a moment. Then, the moment passed, and she recognized from experience what had happened. One of the school boys had gotten to her again. She sighed inaudibly, not wishing her daughter to hear. She soothed her daughter's back, and held her without any comments. Anna sobbed, her words interrupted with hiccups and nose-blowing on her mother's shirt.

"I—_hiccup_—didn't—_hiccup_—do—_hiccup_—any—_hiccup_—thing—_hiccup_—wrong!" she protested.

"I know, darling," Sophia said, cradling her daughter. Anna cried some more until she could properly articulate.

"Why do they hate me so much?" she asked in a small voice.

"They don't hate you, darling," Sophia answered, knowing too well why they—in fact, most people in town—disliked the little Wilson girl. Because she was different. Because she didn't have a father like a respectable girl.

"They said my Daddy's a demon," Anna said in a even smaller voice. Sophia's grip on her daughter tightened reflexively at the mention of her father.

"Because my eyes are yellow, mommy," Anna said, her sadness already half-forgotten as another topic introduced itself on her mind. "Why are my eyes turn yellow, Mommy? Is my Daddy really a demon?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sophia Wilson said. "There's no such thing as demons."

"And Marcus Brandy said I turned his hair blue," Anna went on, oblivious to the sudden tightness in her mother's voice. "I didn't, Mommy. It _just_ turned blue."

"I know, darling," Sophia Wilson said for the thousandth time. "You didn't do anything. It wasn't your fault."

And that was possibly the biggest lie that she ever told her daughter.

It was time for dinner, and all her worries forgotten, Anna cheerfully helped her mother cook spaghetti. Her mother, she noted to herself, was not a good cook by any means. But she refrained from saying this because she knew her mother tried very hard to give her nice meals, even if they weren't actually nice. Anna, on the other hand, was more natural at cooking. A fact which her mother seemed to find delightful.

They would have chocolate cake for dessert today, Sophia promised her after she managed to calm down and cleaned her face up a little. Anna laughed a child-like laugh that was rarely seen even in eleven-year-olds, and Sophia smiled slightly. Perhaps, perhaps some things were worth everything.

"And I wouldn't really have to see them from this fall," Anna said brightly. "Because I would be going to local public school, and they are going somewhere else. It would be nice to not see them, Mom."

Ah, and they were back to Mom.

"You'll meet new friends," Sophia said encouragingly. Anna's face fell for a briefest moment at the mention of friends, but she didn't say anything. Anna didn't have many friends. In fact, the only friend she had was the gargoyle statue at the front of her school which seemed to wink at her every time she passed.

"Maybe," Anna said doubtfully, then turned to the spaghetti on the stove again. Her height was average for her age but in few years she would look older than she actually was, Sophia thought, and that saddened her.

"I'm finished," Anna said as she set down her fork with a satisfied smile on her face. Her face brightened. "Shall I cut the cake, then?"

Sophia was about to smile in amusement at her enthusiasm, when there came a sharp knocking on the door. The mother and the daughter exchanged mystified glances. No one, no one, no neighbors nor mailmen knocked on their door. There simply was no occasion for it. Even on Halloweens their house was off-limits, and Anna ended up with all the candy her mother had bought. She knew her mother bought sweets that she liked, so she was fine with it.

"I shall get that," Sophia murmured, standing up. Nodding, Anna reached for the cake on the counter.

She heard the door open, and a surprised greeting take place. A sharp, no-nonsense voice and her mother's voice—growing footsteps—

"Really, Minerva, but this is the most surprising," her mother said as they approached. 'Minerva. That was the visitor's name. How odd. Like the Roman goddess of wisdom. Who ever named their children Minerva?' thought Anna.

"And the most necessary," said the curt voice. Then the Minerva woman entered the kitchen, and Anna looked at her curiously, for she had the most peculiar outfit: a dark-emerald cloak, with a matching hat and a gold brooch. Her dark hair was tied back into a bun in a no-nonsense manner and she was looking down at Anna critically, her formidable height and figure towering Anna. Anna would've cringed, looked away if she could, but really the woman was quite fascinating.

"Hello," she said cautiously, as one would at an unfamiliar animal.

"That should be 'Hello, Professor McGonagall,'" the woman said stiffly, "but, I suppose, seeing as you haven't started your schooling yet, you may be excused."

Anna was starting to think that there was something wrong with this woman.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said, trying to be polite. "Are you one of my teachers at my new school?"

"No, she's not," Sophia said firmly. "She's just one of my friends."

"Oh," was all Anna said, but there were hidden meanings behind that word. She thought her mother didn't have any friends. Certainly, she's never seen one. In fact, she didn't know much about her mother's past, other than that she quite possibly met her father and fell in love and got pregnant.

"Well, hello," she said again. McGonagall gave a swift nod.

"I'll skip the preliminaries," she said, settling down on a chair without being asked. Quite possibly, it was because her mother wasn't planning to offer her any seats. Anna dutifully cut three pieces of chocolate cake and handed them out.

"The school starts in less than a month, and much has to be done," McGonagall kept on going, and Sophia sat down numbly, trying to ignore her daughter's curious stare. "It doesn't help that I was named the Deputy Headmistress—"

"Congratulations," Sophia intoned softly.

"Like you don't know," McGonagall said, stiffly. "I presume you received my letter?"

"I have," Sophia said, becoming as stiff as McGonagall. Anna took a bite out of her cake, sensing that she wasn't going to take a part in this conversation.

"I have sent a letter to Professor Dumbledore explaining my side—" Sophia began, but McGonagall cut her off.

"Yes, and the faculty deemed it irrelevant," McGonagall said.

Sophia merely raised one eyebrow incredulously. "Irrelevant? I am her mother."

"You have written that you plan to provide her with education that would bring out her potentials and let her live fully in this world," McGonagall's voice was only slightly warmer than ice. "And from what I have heard, you plan no such thing."

"And pray," Sophia said calmly, "what have you heard?"

"That you plan on sending her to some Muggle public school**—**"

"Do you have any objections?"

"Do I have any objections?" echoed McGonagall, seeming for the first time thunderstruck. "Sophia, don't you know what she is? What you are? No Muggle school can bring out her potentials—"

"She would learn all she needs to know," Sophia said, a little forcefully.

"She would get herself killed within five years," McGonagall said. Sophia, for the first time, displayed her irritation at the visit.

"She. Is. Not. Going. To. Die." she said through gritted teeth. McGonagall snorted.

Silence ensued.

Anna, who had been watching this exchange the whole time, raised her hand timidly, as one would in a classroom. McGonagall sensed it and gave her a look that could only mean, 'yes?'

"Er, I don't mean to sound rude," she said hesitantly, "but what am I? What's a Muggle? And why—"

McGonagall's look, which had first been mildly attentive, turned to that of incredulity and almost rage.

"Do you mean to say," McGonagall said, "that you don't know what you are?"

"Well," Anna said, intimidated by the professor's tone and not wishing to sound stupid, "I'm a human girl, I suppose."

Sophia Wilson grinned faintly at the chocolate cake. Encouraged by this positive response, Anna looked at McGonagall with more confidence. However, McGonagall, instead of looking at Anna, turned to her mother with full force.

"Are you telling me," she said, fury barely contained in her voice, "that you never told your daughter that she's magical? A witch?"

Sophia's grin slipped faster than rain, but that didn't stop Anna from hearing what McGonagall just said.

A witch?

But there was no such thing as a witch, everyone knew that. That was why witch-hunting in the Middle Ages was so bad, wasn't it? Because there was no such thing as a witch.

But... the word played across her mind, over and over and over.

A witch?

Anna didn't realize that she said it out loud.

"Yes, a witch, Miss Wilson," McGonagall said, impatiently. "You are a witch. Your mother is one. I am one. There are thousands of us. Millions, even."

"But witches don't exist!" Anna exclaimed. "Everyone knows that!"

Instead of answering, McGonagall reached into her pocket. Anna notice for the first time that the cloak had a pocket hidden somewhere and from it McGonagall produced a long, wooden stick, about a feet in length, perhaps a bit shorter. McGonagall swished the stick, and suddenly, the dishes and forks in the sink began to clean themselves up, floating a feet in midair as a dish-towel scrubbed them dry.

Anna watched, fascinated.

"Does that," came McGonagall's dry voice, "answer your question, Miss Wilson?"

Anna nodded, her eyes never leaving the dishes. Suddenly, she came back to reality.

"Hang on!" she said. "Marcus Brandy's hair! A-and Julie Hammersmith's backpack! And you told me never to get on a swing!" the last sentence was directed at her mother, who had been watching all this with an expressionless look on her face.

"Darling," her mother said at last, her face like a statue cracking into life, "those things don't matter."

"How can they not matter?" Anna cried. "I can turn someone's hair blue!"

Beside her McGonagall's thin lips twitched for a brief moment.

"You don't want to know about them," Sophia said, suddenly pleading, as she faced her daughter across the table. "You don't think so now, but when you're older, you'll see—they don't mean anything at all."

"Mom..." Anna said, trailing off and looking at the dishes. They were now immobile, done cleaning themselves.

"Hogwarts is, of course, looking forward for a new student," McGonagall put in.

"Hogwarts?" Anna repeated.

McGonagall nodded. "It's a school for witches and wizards. You will go there—"

"Not without my consent," Sophia said coldly.

"But I want to go," Anna said in a small voice, not comfortable with going against her mother's wishes. She dared a look at her mother's direction, expecting disapproval, but all there was was a sadness, some kind of resignation at an expected disappointment.

"More importantly, she was meant to go there," McGonagall said, breaking off a family moment. "She's a witch, and that's what she'll be."

"She'll have more choices taken away from her than given to her if she goes," Sophia said quietly, looking McGonagall straight in the eyes. "And she doesn't know what she wants—she's too young, too inexperienced..."

"I _want_ to go to Hogwarts," Anna said, feeling, for some reason beyond her, unusually determined, and for the first time in her life, certain. The possibilities of new things touched her gently, teasingly, but forcefully the possibility of being normal, being accepted.

Anna could not remember much that happened after that when she'd gone to sleep that night. Her mother's face paled, she seemed to remember, and she gave in without much protest after Anna's declaration. McGonagall, satisfied, had left after giving a thick envelope made of parchment to Anna, who, upon tearing it open, found one of the most bizarre list she'd ever seen. Potion ingredients...wands...owls!

"Owls!" she exclaimed. "Can you actually have an _owl_?"

Her mother's answer was a tight, sad smile. They did not speak after dinner much; except for answering her daughter's excited questions, Sophia Wilson left her daughter alone, and Anna was far too busy exploring the possibility of turning the hair of everyone in her school bright pink.

* * *

Anna sighed silently as she looked at the moonlight through the window. Her mother was obviously sad to see her go, if not angry. Anna did not understand, however, why her mother would wish to keep things from her, all her magical talents and abilities. When she was young, Sophia Wilson had never read any fairy tales to her, no tales of witches or wizards. Anna didn't know half of what other girls her age knew of King Arthur or Frankenstein. Anna frowned, remembering their taunting words as her ignorance was revealed.

Anna sighed again, concentrating on the full moon instead. Her mother's sadness twinged her guilt, yet Anna was mostly mystified—and too young to be able to dwell much on that. Instead, she imagined what it'd be like, to do magic—but aside from McGonagall's demonstration earlier, she didn't have much to go on and she abandoned every attempt, deciding she would learn in her own time. Besides, her mother had said they needed to go shopping for school supplies. The twinge of guilt sharpened momentarily. They were far from being well off, her mother and she—Sophia Wilson was a chemist at an unfocused research center that didn't pay much. Anna didn't know how wizard economy was, but she hoped her mother wouldn't be too pressured by having to buy new things.

And at the thought of new things, magical things, Anna smiled happily and slowly drifted off to sleep, excited for a new day.


	3. Chapter 2

_Hello all._

_Just to clarify: parts written in bold are from Regulus' diary, parts written from the third perspective are Anna looking back on her life. It can just simply be seen as the major storyline. Parts marked as PRESENT refers to the post-war state where everyone is trying to cope with the consequences of their actions.. Italics generally indicate flashbacks. Things will flash back and forth during the whole course of this story, I think-I would _love_ your input or criticism on it. _

_I know it's a bit confusing, and I perhaps don't leave as many Author's Notes as I should; I find them generally extraneous and try to avoid writing them as much as possible. Still, I promise that things will clear up as the story progresses._

_Until then-thanks for reading!_

* * *

**Diagon Alley. I've been there a thousand times before, of course. However, the alley at this time of the year is often crowded, and I noticed, for the first time, other students whom I would most certainly meet at Hogwarts. We-Mother, Sirius and I-managed to navigate through the bustle of the crowds, Mother staring contemptuously at the Muggle-borns (can't they at least try to be magical? Why do they **_**insist**_** upon Muggle clothing?) and Sirius waving friendlily at them just to get the rise out of Mother. Really, there are better ways to annoy one's parents; you don't have to be low about it.**

**I bought my wand, of course-eleven inches exactly, unicorn hair, rowan tree-quite different from Sirius', eleven-and-three-quarters, dragon heartstring, oak. Trust Sirius to pick a stubborn wand, like him. Although, Mr. Ollivander did say that the wand chooses the wizard. I suppose it's a distinct possibility. Some wands simply wished to repel me when I held them. I don't know much about wandmaking. One of the many things I should know more about, I suppose. Both Sirius and I have received an owl for ourselves, although Sirius did have to promise to behave. I doubt that he would keep the promise for long, but here's to hoping. We did not, to our dismay, get to go to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour-Mother, as you know, don't believe in sweets.**

**Something funny happened, though. Do you remember the article about the Dark Lord and the list of his suspected followers on Daily Prophet the other morning? About Altair Wolokin? Today in Gringotts, we ran into a family-a girl and her mother, really-and Mother was very hostile toward her. I first figured that the mother was a Muggleborn from her clothes, and that the girl didn't really see much of the wizardry world. Then I heard the family name, Wilson-old blood traitors, still pure-blooded for Merlin-knows-why-and I looked at the pair a bit closer. Mother said something about her husband, and the girl peeked out from behind her mother-how **_**weak**_**-and I saw that her eyes were yellow. Almost feline, but still rather human. **

**Altair Wolokin, if you remember, has the distinct yellow eyes that mark him out.**

**Do you think that the Wilson girl is in any way connected to the Dark Lord?**

**I wished to inquire upon the matter, but Mother, too irritated after exchanging some unpleasant words with the mother, did not wish to enter the subject.**

**I'll have plenty of time at Hogwarts, I suppose...**

* * *

_You'll be okay._

Her mother's words rang in her ears and Anna tried to grasp onto them desperately, trying to believe them.

The Hogwarts Express was speeding through the invisible rails of England and Anna looked out the window, feeling suddenly very alone. The green grasslands and the trees shook as the train passed, the wind seeming to greet her on a fine September Day. Anna rested her head on the window, looking at the empty carriage.

She had her books, of course, that she had been devouring since her mother bought them for her at Diagon Alley-used books, of course, they could hardly afford to get new shiny ones-and she could always look outside and appreciate the natural beauty of England. She and her mother didn't have many chances to travel and the new scenery was quite novel to her.

But nothing came into her eyes nor her mind right now.

Anna remembered her mother, sad but trying not to show it at their stay at Leaky Cauldron-it was a long drive from home to London, so they had decided to stay the night at the Inn before her departure-trying to hold her back and let her go at the same time. She remembered her, tense, happy for her and sad for her, worried, everywhere they went, even when they went to look for a wand, or to the ice cream shop to get an ice-cream.

_"Sophia Wilson," an old voice came from behind them as Anna and her mother looked around the dusty shop, columns and aisles of little boxes stacked on top of each other. It was like a shoe store for a people with very, very thin feet. A middle-aged man stood, his back slightly hunched already from years of work and study. His hands were brittle and his hair was gray and thinning, but there was a maniacal gleam in his eyes that seemed to cover his entire face._

_"Mr. Ollivander," her mother said calmly enough, but Anna, surprised, jumped behind her. Ollivander stared at her as she peered at him from behind her mother._

_"Say hello, Anna," her mother prompted her gently._

_"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," she said timidly._

_"Hello, Anna," Ollivander looked at her inscrutably. Although his gaze was not unkind, Anna could not decide whether she liked him or not; he did not seem to look at her like a girl, but some kind of a creature that needed to be studied and analyzed._

_"A wand, Mr. Ollivander," her mother said. "For my daughter."_

_Ollivander glanced at her mother briefly. "Yes, Sophia Wilson, ten-and-a-quarter inch, cherry, unicorn hair, supple, lovely for transfiguration." He looked at her pockets rather suspiciously. "I do suppose that you still have it. It was a rather good wand."_

_"I do," Sophia said quietly, but made no move to draw it out and show it to her._

_"Her father, on the other hand, was a quite interesting mix," Ollivander was scrutinizing Anna again. She looked back at him, confused._

_"My dad?" she asked._

_"Mr. Ollivander, I'm certain that this is not necessary-" Sophia went to interrupt him, but Ollivander's fingers were already raised, ready for a speech._

_"Ten-and-three-quarters, blackthorn, a single phoenix feather from a bird that tried to bite me when I drew near. Of course, phoenix aren't the most friendly of birds, but that one was particularly nasty." He shook his head at the memory, muttering. "Positively defensive. But strong, of course, very strong..." his eyes were upon her again, and Anna looked back at him, wondering what her father was like... What he's like._

_"Try this," Ollivander said suddenly, walking to the back of the store and retrieving an old dusty box. "Ten inches, maple, dragon heartstring. Stable."_

_"Erm," Anna said confusedly, looking at her mother for guidance._

_"Pick it up with your right hand, honey. See how that feels," Sophia's gentle prompting lead her to pick it up. It felt cold to touch._

_"Give it a flick, or a swish, or whatever that seems appropriate," Ollivander said._

_Anna held it out and gave it a flick._

_Nothing happened._

_"Never fret," Ollivander said after taking a look in her face. "Happens all the time. Seen one going through some hundred of these things until the right one came... but of course. Try this one, dear," he said._

_So Anna did. Again and again. Mr. Ollivander seemed to find the fact that nothing was compatible with her pleasant, as he dug deeper and climbed higher up the ladder until Anna was feeling quite foolish and her mother had actually seated herself on a nearby stool._

_"This should work!" Ollivander cried triumphantly from some corner. He emerged, covered in dust._

_"Ten and a quarter inches, phoenix, hazel. Delicate, most delicate, but good for transfiguration, I think. It's a rather odd combination, I'll admit, but your grandparents themselves were convinced that they would have to fly to Grigovitch to find the right wand... Well, if it was just some odd combination they were looking for, I can certainly give it to them..." Anna had a feeling that Ollivander was talking about her father again, but she couldn't understand what he was saying. Who was Gregorovitch? Why did her grandparents prefer him to Ollivander?_

_Anna picked up the wand from the box, feeling a sudden warmth spread through her fingers to her core. It felt as though someone was enclosing her in a warm blanket, protecting her from whatever was to come..._

_"Well?" Ollivander asked. She smiled._

"Excuse me, may I sit here?" a boy's voice interrupted her reverie and Anna looked away from the window, looking for the source of the voice.

At the door stood a slight boy, slightly but barely taller than her. His black hair was cut smartly short and his gray eyes looked at her steadily, certain of his grounds. Even though he had asked her if the seat was available, his stance did was not asking her for a favor-he knew that he would get the seat. His confident pose seemed vaguely familiar, although Anna could not completely put her finger on it. Had she seen him at Platform nine-and-three-quarters?

"Everywhere else is full," he explained, and this contrasted oddly with his imposing stance that again contrasted with his slight frame.

"All right," she answered off-handedly, unable to think of a better response. It would perhaps be better to ride to school with someone rather than all by herself-she might have a familiar face to look for at school, at least. Here everyone seemed to know where they were from the way they stood-even the Muggleborns, as her mother called them, seemed more comfortable with their magical abilities.

Anna knew scarcely none of what was happening.

Meanwhile, the black-haired boy was struggling to get his school trunk into the railing. Anna stood, as to help, but he waved her off-not unkindly, but definitely dismissively. She sat down, suddenly feeling very foolish and small.

"I'm Regulus Black by the way," he said when he had managed the task. He looked at her expectantly, offering his hand. "Regulus Arcturus Black. I'm in first year."

"Adrianna Wilson," Anna said, shaking his proffered hand, feeling rather ridiculous at this politeness. This display of manner made Regulus feel more like a stranger than a fellow classmate, and she somehow had the impression that, despite his open and almost-friendly demeanor, that was his purpose.

"Also first year," she added hastily. "Have I seen you before?"

"Yesterday, I believe," Regulus answered easily enough. "I think I saw you at Gringotts. You were wearing-what you are wearing now, I suppose," he looked at her jeans and jacket with mild distaste. Anna tilted her head, remembering what her mother had briefly told her about the "likes of them" as they left the bank.

_"Hello, Sophia," came Mrs. Black's cold voice from high above, and Anna looked up from her mother to the source of the voice, holding her hand tightly._

_A tall woman stood, imposing on them. Her shiny black hair fell freely to her back her natural waves cascading down. She would've looked lovely, had not her dark eyes been flashing dangerously with barely suppressed hatred. Her lips curled into a disdainful smile._

_"Hello, Walburga," her mother said tiredly. "It has been a while."_

_"It certainly has been," Walburga-Mrs. Black-said. "You're looking as dreadful as always."_

_"And you haven't changed a bit," Sophia bit back, and Anna looked at her mother wonderingly, not knowing what could've lead her to sound so spiteful._

_"Tell me, how's your dear husband? I know that he has been involved in some important matters... no, I forgot, forgive me-he left." Mrs. Black was fully sneering now. "Is that your daughter?"_

_Anna hid behind her mother's back slightly, feeling the full force of Mrs. Black's gaze on her._

_"She resembles you," Mrs. Black said. "Pity. A face of a blood-traitor, etched into the bones-"_

_"Your boys look quite well," Sophia interrupted. "They couldn't possibly be Orion's."_

_Mrs. Black's sneer grew, if possible, worse. "Like you'd know," she spat before turning to her sons. "Come, Regulus, Sirius-we need not waste our time in this company." A taller boy waved at her as they turned around and walked away, and Anna managed to give him a fleeting smile, uncomprehending, but the shorter boy had barely given her a glance._

_"Watch out for the likes of them, Anna," her mother said quietly as they, too, exited Gringotts with a small pouch of golden, silver and bronze coins that she couldn't see enough of. "They're the bad news."_

Anna was wondering why she didn't remember this warning sooner.

"My mother and your parents were all in the same year at Hogwarts," Regulus said, all traces of distaste gone. "She told me when we got home."

"Oh," was all Anna could say to this. Regulus seemed to be expecting more, however, and she looked apologetically back at him.

"I don't know much about my parents during their school years, I'm afraid," she said. "Especially about my father. I've never seen him before, so..." she shrugged, unsure how to proceed.

"Oh." Regulus' face fell for a briefest moment. "I'm sorry to hear that." They all sat in uncomfortable silence for a while.

"Everyone seems to know him, though," Anna said, struck with an idea. "Do you know him?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," he said. Anna shrugged, an oh-well-shrug, trying not to be too disappointed. She couldn't just expect everyone to know who her father was. Mr. Ollivander did seem to know him, as well as Mrs. Black, but she didn't feel very inclined to ask any of them, nor did she know any way of communicating with them.

Suddenly, the train lurched, and a mysterious shriek came from overboard.

"Oh, no," Regulus said quietly as he reached overhead to see something. He brought down a large cylindrical cage, and Anna peered from the sideways, wondering what could make such a noise.

"You have an owl?" she asked incredulously. She herself had wanted one, naturally, looking at their round tawny eyes, but her mother said, quite plainly, "we can't afford to keep them, honey."

She supposed that her mother was right.

"Yes," Regulus replied, examining his owl anxiously.

"What's his name?" she asked.

"I haven't decided yet," he said, now settling down on his seat with the cage on his lap. "I got him yesterday, you see."

"He seems to be rather on the edge," he said quietly, almost to himself. Anna didn't say anything, looking at the way Regulus' white hands held the cage tightly, as though afraid that it would fall the moment he let go.

"What about Edge?" she asked out-of-the blue.

Regulus looked up. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"Why don't you call him Edge?" she repeated, feeling silly. "He does seem to be constantly on the edge." The owl's head was still quite stuck between its wings, and its eyes were darting back and forth constantly, as though looking for an invisible prey that would lurch him out of his cage again.

"Edge," Regulus said cautiously, looking at the tawny feathers again. He seemed to be pondering on the name.

"It's rather a bad trait, actually, for an owl to be so comfortable in a cage," Regulus said suddenly.

"Oh," Anna said. She supposed that this was Regulus' way of saying no.

"Edge," Regulus tried the name again, and this time the owl responded, apparently finding the name suitable.

"It's decided, then, whether I like it or not," Regulus announced. "You're Edge. I'm Regulus. It's nice to meet you, Edge."

The owl hooted.

* * *

"Do you know where we're going now?" Anna said as she and Regulus trudged in the mud, following the giant's voice. It was drizzling slightly and Anna, in her new school uniform, found it rather difficult to move despite the extra space the cloak gave her.

"To the school, I think," Regulus said. "Although I don't think we're taking the carriages." True enough, older kids, noticeable for their height, were boarding carriages that didn't have any horses tied to them.

"First years! Follow me!" came the loud voice. "Four in one boat!"

"All right," Anna said uncertainly. "We're riding a boat. Lovely."

Regulus looked sideways at her. "You don't like boats?" he asked.

"I don't know anything about them," she said, her voice climbing higher with each word. "I've never been on one before. How do you know it's safe?"

"Well, I suppose that the giant squid might try to come and eat you," he said thoughtfully. "I'll be sure to feed you to him."

Anna shot him a dirty look. Regulus grinned a small grin.

In the following hours since deciding Edge's name, they had a big experimentation with various kinds of foods from the trolley-it turned out that Regulus' penchant for sweets rivaled, if not surpassed, her own, although he tried to hide this fact by making her open everything first. Anna, finding the Chocolate Frog cards interesting but not worthwhile, gave them to Regulus, who looked at them with almost reverence. Then he told her briefly about the houses and that his entire family had been in Slytherin-"We're the cleverest house, the most sensible"-and expounded for almost an hour upon the rules and the importance of Quidditch. The enthusiasm was infectious, and Anna felt, by the time that Regulus was taking a long gulp from the pumpkin juice after talking non-stop for forty minutes, that she knew the game better than anyone. Quidditch was the only topic that he talked about without reserve, however, on other things, such as his family or himself, he was reticent. Anna, not having much to tell herself, knowing very little about anything anymore, had very little to say as well.

As the boat proceeded to take itself to the castle, Anna was dazzled by the lights coming from it; there were towers, and flags and all the other things that made any ordinary castle amazing, but there was an air that surrounded it that said that the castle was, undoubtedly, very possibly, magical.

She wondered if this was the sight that her mother saw when she arrived at Hogwarts some twenty years ago.

Why would she try to keep this from her? Not telling her about it? Puzzlement and confusion was the strongest, overcoming the slightest traces of anger. Her father-Mrs. Black said that he'd left. She would look for him, had she had any clues, but she didn't know his name or what he did or where he was.

Why would her mother choose to live as a Muggle when she wasn't even from a Muggle family?

The rain had grown thicker, and the vision of the school grew blurry as Anna stared at the lake, watching the yellow rectangles quiver on the water. The raindrops formed so many circles simultaneously that it was difficult to tell which one was which.

Then, she noticed something.

"Regulus?" she asked, suddenly alarmed.

"Yes?" he said, apparently broken from his own train of thoughts.

"Did you say that there were squids in this lake?" Anna asked, trying not to sound scared.

"I was just joking, why-" he stopped abruptly as his gaze landed on where she had been looking at a moment before. A trail on the surface of the water, too thick and strong to have been created by a mere raindrop, was meandering its way amongst the boats. Thick raindrops attacked her pale hands and face, already chilled from rain.

"Squids?" a nervous, high voice came from next to them and Anna saw the two other students occupying their boat: a pretty red-haired girl and a rather sullen-looking dark-haired boy.

"Sev, you didn't tell me anything about a squid!" she cried, apparently panicking.

"There isn't a squid," the boy-Sev-shot Anna and Regulus a pointed look. "It's just a lake."

"Alright," the red-headed girl said, but looked unconvinced as she, too, peered into the black water.

"There's nothing, there, see-Anna?" Regulus' assurance grew into a panicked question as he heard a shriek from his left. He looked up from the water and saw the girl being plucked from her seat, a long leg draped across her waist. Her eyes were wide and accusing as she was lifted into the air, and she wasn't the only one, as several gray legs appeared from water, attacking the boats at random.

"That's just the giant squid havin' fun," came the gamekeeper's voice, but Regulus only half-heard this, standing up and reaching for his wand without any idea what he could do. Next to him the red-headed girl and the black-haired boy also stood up, but the girl seemed to know what to do.

"Keep calm!" The gamekeeper shouted as the first-year students began to panic and scream. The leg holding Anna was now swirling her around mid-air, but Anna was no longer screaming. Regulus squinted to make out her body, the black cloak blending into the evening sky and saw-was she poking the leg with her wand? Despite all this, he smiled faintly.

"I can do this-I can do this-" the red-headed girl was scrambling her pockets, and, finding the wand, directed it at Anna.

"What are you doing?" Regulus asked, incredulous. "We don't know anything yet and you could-"

"I've been practicing!" the girl said, sounding a little insane as she said, "_Relashio_!"

_SPLASH!_

Immediately, the leg holding Anna dropped him, and she fell into the lake, making a spectacular splash. Everyone cheered and laughed, but Lily's eyes widened.

"Oh," the red-headed girl said. "I wasn't thinking about that." Some seconds passed. "Do you reckon that she can swim?" she asked Regulus. He gestured that he didn't know.

"That was brilliant, Lily," Sev, the black-haired boy said, and Regulus raised his eyebrows to the water, not knowing the boy himself. Could he be less obvious about his feelings?

"Thank you!" Lily said happily. "I wasn't really sure about it at first, but you know, it's a rather easy incantation, Relashio-" she waved her wand grandly. "Still, do you think she's all right?" she asked, worriedly looking out to the place that Anna fell.

"_Feed_ me to the squid, REGULUS BLACK?" came the voice, uncharacteristically loud-quite possibly, she was still shocked from the unexpected dive she took, Regulus thought as he located a white, spherical object not too far away. He tried to direct the boat the direction, and, surprisingly, the boat complied..

"I'll feed _you_ to the squid," she muttered as he approached, but she was grinning.

Regulus grinned back, offering his hand.


	4. Chapter 3

When Professor McGonagall opened the doors of the Great Hall, Anna was soaked to the bones, freezing, and shivering to the core. The entrance hallway, with all its grandeur and intriguing objects, did not offer warmth. She greatly welcomed the smell of people in the Great Hall, feeling the warmth radiating from the chandeliers, which, despite the rain overhead, seemed to light up the gigantic arches.

Perhaps it was for the best that she was preoccupied with cold. Lily and Severus, as they introduced themselves after Anna was fished out of the lake by a grinning Regulus, were huddled close together. Lily seemed to be going over every enchantments that she had taught herself over the summer, looking apprehensive of what was to come. Severus was trying to placate her by telling her that there was nothing too grave about the Sorting; however, he could not provide specific details pertaining to the ordeal of Sorting, as his mother wished to keep him in suspense, and with the added fact of his misinformation about the squids in the Black Lake, Lily was not totally convinced and kept chanting to herself all the incantations that she could remember and was making the reluctant Severus to do the same.

Regulus, on the other hand, was observing the students with mild interest, and walked without much hurry to the Great Hall.

"Regulus," Anna whispered, suddenly feeling all the eyes of the students and the teachers' on her. "Do you know what we're supposed to do?"

Regulus merely raised a confident eyebrow in response. Anna scowled.

"It's not fair," she muttered. Regulus snorted.

"What?" Anna asked, annoyed, but then, a grubby voice began to sang.

There was no other way to describe the voice that came, as Anna found from Lily, who was taller than her and didn't have to crane her neck to see, from an old brown hat. It was shaped like a cone, like an ordinary wizard's hat which Anna felt rather silly wearing, feeling as though she were in a birthday party to which she was never invited, with many patches covering most of its surface, as though it was ancient. Its voice was not altogether unpleasant; but it reminded her of tree bark, a texture, while not altogether unpleasant to look, was unpleasant when you scratched your face on it. All the first-years listened attentively; Anna listened, too, knowing little of school houses except for what Regulus had told her.

"Seriously? We just have to try on the hat?" Lily said, sounding strangely disappointed.

"What, were you thinking of showing off again?" came a snide reply. Anna turned to see who had spoken.

A brown-haired boy with icy blue eyes and a think mouth was sneering. His robes positively shined, and his polished shoes seemed to reflect the lights back to the chandeliers. Anna looked at him through slitted eyes, not recognizing him. Next to her, Lily blushed and looked away, mumbling something about things being anticlimactic. Severus looked at him, looking surprisingly uncertain.

"Damn Mudbloods," the brown-haired boy spat. Severus' eyes flashed

"Don't call her that," he said, but his voice faltered as he looked at the boy's eyes.

"Oh? Are you one of them too?" the boy asked innocently. Severus' cheeks flushed faintly.

"Fancy seeing you here, Mulciber," Regulus said loudly before Severus could say anything, barely turning back to look at Avery.

"Regulus," Mulciber grunted. "Didn't see you there."

"Yes, it's rather crowded, isn't it?" Regulus asked disinterestedly. Anna looked between them curiously. They seemed to know each other—was that normal? Did everyone here know each other? Suddenly Anna began to feel her throat constrict. New beginning. She had been hoping for a new beginning, with a few friends, maybe. She wasn't sure about Regulus—he seemed distant despite sharing the same carriage during the train ride—but she had at least hoped that the students here would be clueless of each other as she was of them.

Next to her, Severus was telling Lily in a muted voice, "Really, you don't have to be intimidated..."

"It's just new," Lily answered rather snappishly, as the Sorting Hat cried, "HUFFLEPUFF!" to the first student that had sat on the stool, Carla—something. Anna realized that she had been too engrossed in Mulciber's words to watch the Sorting, and, anxious again, looked at the grubby hat that Professor McGonagall kept taking off and putting on students' heads.

"Avery, Otto!"

A boy with a shock of blond hair walked to the stool.

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted within seconds.

"BASIL, THOMAS!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"BLACK, REGULUS!" Regulus, tapping Anna's shoulder lightly but otherwise silent, walked to the stool, calm, collected. He sat on the stool, his face almost resembling that of a statue, engraved forever. Regulus had already said that he knew where he was going, didn't he? Anna frowned slightly, trying to remember what the Hat had said—Slytherin, something about ancestry... ambition. Cunning yet real friends. Or was it the Hufflepuff? she could not remember.

The hat, meanwhile, was taking his time to decide, apparently conflicted.

"SLYTHERIN!" It cried out at last. Regulus went to the farthest table on the right, where he shook hands with a pale blond boy. Although he seemed as though nothing had happened, Anna thought that he had paled momentarily before he stood up from the stool.

"BLACK, SIRIUS!"

Surprised, Anna craned her neck to see who was going up. Regulus did mention that he had a brother, but he had not said that they were in the same year. A cousin, maybe, Anna thought, looking at the black-haired boy who looked similar to Regulus. Hadn't he waved at her at Gringotts? The he must be his brother...

"GRYFFINDOR!" The hat shouted as soon as it touched Sirius' head. He stood up, looking relieved like his brother, and made a show of letting out a breath of relief. The Gryffindors clapped loudly, but the Slytherin table was woodenly watching the whole proceeding, not surprised but altogether unpleased. Regulus, especially, was shaking his head imperceptibly.

The Sorting went on, and Anna spent most of her time trying to memorize the faces and the names of the students. They all seemed—normal, Anna was rather embarrassed to think, as they all walked to the stool, sometimes stumbling with pale faces or sometimes making a grand gesture out of it. She had, of course, known that they were all humans, but she had expected them to be different somehow. But all together, here today, clustered in one big space, Anna could not see much difference as she looked around, observing everyone. There was a girl chewing her fingernails, obviously nervous, and another one was fidgeting with the hem of her robes. Anna knew the feeling—the robes got in the way sometimes, and they were uncomfortable to those who were not accustomed to their weight.

"EVANS, LILY!" Lily gave Severus and Anna one last anxious look before walking up to the stool.

"GRYFFINDOR!" People clapped and Lily got down from the stool. Next to Anna, Severus stifled a groan.

So Anna kept waiting, wondering which house she even wanted to go to. No one knew her, so it would be pointless to determine where she would be most socially accepted. Anna wished, not for the first time, that her mother had told her more about Hogwarts, which house she was in, at least, or which house her father was in. A part of her believed, rather sillily, perhaps, that this was all just a big joke; or that she wouldn't belong in any house, that the Hat would refuse to sort her. Certainly, she was neither brave nor particularly smart. She lacked cunning or just simple nice-ness. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other every once in a while, trying to hide her face by looking down on the floor. There were now only two students waiting, except for her—

"WILSON, ADRIANNA!" came Professor McGonagall's clear voice. Anna stumbled as she walked the unfamiliar stone floor, looking for some sign of recognition in Professor's face. There was none. Trembling, she sat down, her hands clenched together in her lap.

"A Wolokin, hmm?" The Sorting Hat's voice was different from the voice she'd heard him sing in some minutes ago. It was curious, a bit rusty like a grandfather—almost intimate. Anna looked up, as though trying to look at the source of the voice, and her nose met with rough brown fabric that smelled strangely. Quite possibly, the smell of hair of some thousand students over the years. She wrinkled her nose.

"I can see you're confused," the Hat said, and chuckled. "And surprised, of course… But where shall I put you?"

Anna remained silent, not knowing.

"I put your mother in Ravenclaw, you know… Would've done well in Hufflepuff, I think, but she had a bit too much spirit… But I don't think you're much of a Hufflepuff… you'd be fair, I think, but not kind…Her family come mostly from Gryffindor, the Wilsons, but no…"

"Your father, on the other hand," the Hat's voice suddenly took a dive. Now it sounded like it was actually engaged in a fun game. "Oh, what an interesting kind _he_ was… A Wolokin! Do you know what that means, child?" Anna shook her head. "Perhaps not. Gryffindor was the most obvious choice, of course, considering his family history, although none of _them_ ever attended Hogwarts, of course…I put him in Slytherin instead…"

_What family history?_ Anna asked without thinking. The Hat chuckled again.

"All in the due time, girl, all shall become clear with time… Now, you've got talent, oh yes you do… and desire for knowledge…but you won't stop there, I can see…

Well, is there anywhere you want to go?" The Hat asked suddenly, and Anna jumped, surprised.

_I don't know much about what I want,_ she confessed.

"Ah yes… the pain of the youth. When you don't know something, it torments you. Then when you grow up to know what you want, it torments you again." The Hat sounded regretful, just for a second. "Well, then, there was really only one clear choice… SLYTHERIN!" the Hat's loud voice rang in her ears as Professor McGonagall took off her hat and held it out for the next student. Anna could barely hear the reluctant clapping of the three tables and a polite applause from the table at the farthest right, however, as she walked numbly to the table beneath the green banner with a silver snake.

"Congratulations," the pale blond boy shook her hand formally as he'd shaken other students' hands. "I'm Lucius Malfoy, the fifth year prefect."

"Thank you," Anna answered automatically. Lucius' face seemed dazed—or was that just her gaze?

"I can see that you're rather overwhelmed," he said without any traces of emotion or judgement. "If you'd sit there, however, next to Rebecca and Gwennan…" he pointed at the available seats closest to the door, and Anna realized that the seats were arranged in order of the year; at least, that was what she presumed when she saw bulky boys sitting closest to the teacher's table and the scrawniest boys sitting near the entrance door. Loud clapping came once again—another boy must have been sorted. Anna sat, smiling weakly at the two girls who were already sitting. They gave her a curious, but not entirely friendly, looks. Regulus was sitting across from them, with Severus and two other boys she thought their name was Mulciber and Montague, but she couldn't be sure. None of them spared her more than a second's glance, and Anna tried to keep herself from shrinking back.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," a majestic voice came from the teacher's table, and Anna turned to see a wizard in a purple cloak with a waist-long gray beard standing up and speaking to the students. He was odd, Anna decided almost instantly without thinking about it. He was the epitome of wizards in Muggle's mind, with his long, crooked wizard's hat, long beard and spectacles that gleamed under the candlelight, making him look slightly mad. And the short speech that followed the greeting was equally slightly mad; but every student understood that they could finally dig in. Anna, who was still nervous, anxious, and uncertain about where things were going, attacked the food in front of her with less vigor than other students.

She looked quickly around. She noticed that students on other table were more boisterous than the Slytherin table; they ate, it seemed, with greater energy, enthusiasm, and, if it wasn't just her imagination, much more capacity for food, seeming ready to devour their plate. The students in the Slytherin table, on the other hand, ate in relative quietness; most ate with precision, even the boys, and even though they talked, their reactions to each other's words were more or less dispassionate interest. While quiet and calm generally made Anna feel comfortable, it felt odd; she was used to being the only quiet girl in school, and it was strange to be in a _group_ that was quiet in a loud environment.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid that I haven't seen you around before," said one of the girls sitting next to her. Anna offered her hand.

"I'm Anna—Anna Wilson," she said, trying to sound pleasant. The girl, on the other hand, frowned, and shook her hand rather reluctantly, as though unsure of whether she should touch her or not. Embarrassed, Anna retracted her hand without shaking the second girl's hand. She was suddenly aware of her state—cloak still dripping with the lake water, her hair in disarray from her recent dip.

"Yes, we know your _name_," the second girl said. Anna found herself trying not to feel cornered.

"But I don't know _yours_," she said defensively.

"Gwennan Rookwood," the girl said primly, shaking her blonde curls as though they said it all. "And this is Rebecca Goyle. We were just saying that we didn't think we'd seen you before."

Anna looked at them uncomprehendingly, but she somehow got a bad feeling that this wasn't going to end well.

"Um, we haven't," she said cautiously. "I think I would remember meeting you," this she added under her breath. The girls seemed to not have heard this.

"Who are your parents?" Gwennan asked almost imperiously.

"What's it to you?" Anna asked, feeling more and more annoyed. She did not usually consider herself a rude person, but Gwennan was beginning to become unpleasant.

"Well, we're going to share a dorm together for the next seven years—I think that we should know more about each other," she said as though this was the most obvious thing. Anna had to admit that she wasn't wrong; they were going to live, whether she liked it or not, together for the next seven years. There was no point in making enemies with them.

"I don't know much about my parents. My father used to go to Hogwarts—or so the Hat told me," Anna answered tonelessly, stabbing at her potatoes.

"And your mother?" Anna looked at Rebecca. With her wide brown eyes and curly brown hair, Rebecca did seem less aggressive than Gwennan. However, Anna remembered how she could barely manage to shake her hand, and returned to her plate, refusing to look at her.

"Donno. She used to go to Hogwarts, too."

"So you don't know what you are?" Gwennan's imperious tone sounded almost astounded.

"What _I_ am? What are _you_, then?" Anna shot back, now truly irritated.

"I'm a pure-blood, and if you had any ounce of it, you'd know it, too!" Gwennan's shrill voice rang across the table. Everyone looked at their direction and Anna felt herself flush as she and Gwennan glared at each other.

"That's enough," came a familiar voice—Lucius Malfoy, Anna vaguely remembered. There was authority in him that she hadn't heard before as he stood up and looked at the two girls. "Gwennan—you've made your point. But if you had been paying any close attention to the family history, you might remember seeing a couple of Wilsons there. And Adrianna, may I suggest that you acquaint yourself with pureblood history. I know that the Wilsons couldn't care less for it, and we couldn't care less for them, but you're in Slytherin now." Without ado he sat down and resumed his conversation with some older boys.

Anna looked down at her plate, her mind buzzing.

She bit her lip, refusing to let the familiar tears of humiliation trickle down. Really, this wasn't the place for it—this wasn't home, she realized for the first time. She couldn't run to her mother every time she had a bad day and they wouldn't be able to share a chocolate cake together. But—this question of parents seemed to never cease, as she'd hoped. The boys back at her old school—Muggles, she should call them, but she felt too much like a Muggle herself to really use the term—called her names because of her shady parentage, in that conservative village where everyone knew each other. Now, it seemed as if she thrusted into another conservative circle of people whom her mother had told her to keep away from, who had said that they couldn't care less for the Wilsons. She couldn't help it if she didn't know her father or about wizards, now could she? But there was really no point in explaining that to everyone, Gwennan Rookwood the least of all.

She looked up to see whether anyone was looking at her, and quickly looked down. It seemed as though most people had resumed their conversation, or was politely—or disdainfully—ignoring the previous spat. However, Regulus was looking at her quietly—observing, really, without sympathy nor disdain in his expression—until their eyes met and he quickly looked the other way.

"I'm sorry, Anna," Gwennan suddenly said loudly, not particularly looking at her. "I apologize for my rudeness. You were—er—_new_ here and I should've taken that into account." Anna, who had been initially surprised at her words, grew steadily indignant as Gwennan made eye-contact with everyone else but herself, as though assuring her place as a good person amongst her peers.

"And I'm sorry that I don't accept insincere apologies, Gwennan," Anna snapped back, making a point to look at her in the eyes. Gwennan's cheeks flushed slightly, and she opened her mouth to say something; but she closed it almost immediately, her eyes flicking, if Anna hadn't been imagining, momentarily to Regulus.

The desert soon followed, and Anna noted, with some ironic happiness, that there was chocolate cake. She helped herself to two—surely, her mother would understand, given the circumstances.

Then the students were sent to their respective dormitories. As the first-year Slytherin was following Lucius Malfoy, Anna trailed behind them, unsure of how close she wanted to remain in the group. Then suddenly, she heard a voice.

"I would grow used to them, if I were you," Regulus Black's quiet voice came from behind her shoulder, and Anna turned her head, surprised.

"What?" she asked.

"Rebecca, Gwennan and her "insincere apologies,"" he was using a quotation mark.

"Why should I?" she asked stiffly as the group turned a sharp turn toward the lower levels of the castle and the crowd became decidedly smaller. Cold air chilled her still-wet clothes and her breath came out like a fog.

"Because we function on them," Regulus said. "Soon enough you'll see—there's really no point in calling things insincere by your definition."

"Were _you_ being insincere with me?" Anna asked, not expecting herself to ask the question.

Regulus looked at her face, apparently considering.

"Does it matter?" he asked at last. Anna stared back at him, confused and disbelieving. He had a handsome face—anyone could see that—but it wasn't a face that would invite girls' _crushes_.

"Good night, Anna," he said as he turned around and entered the common room.

Mutely, she followed.

* * *

**The Sorting went relatively well, all things considering. Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor. I guess that I shouldn't be surprised. I am a little worried for him, however—Mother would surely hear, whether I inform her of it or not, knowing Lucius and other Slytherins—or any other purebloods remotely connected to the Black family, really. Sometimes I think that they should just keep their noses where they belong, but I know that they mean well—to preserve the family.**

**I was, of course, sorted into Slytherin.**

**It did not go well as I had hoped, unfortunately. The Hat had said—but it's so silly—it had said that I would do well in Gryffindor. Not in Ravenclaw, but Gryffindor. I suppose I should be thankful that it didn't recommend Hufflepuff, the load of buffers. The hat had, however, quite cheerfully said, "**_**you'd do well in Gryffindor, I can see the potential... No? How about Ravenclaw?**_**" Honestly. I was forced to sit in front of the entire school and insist on Slytherin. At last the Hat relented, although it warned that I couldn't really be anyone but myself.**

**Quite obviously. I am being myself, in this house, with these people.**

**On a slightly brighter note, we came across a rather grand adventure—not quite, but you can see that—on our way here. ****Anna was picked up by**

**A giant squid came at our boat, where I, Snape, Wilson and Evans, a Muggleborn, was sitting. I would rather not recount how we came to sit in the same boat. A giant squid had picked Wilson up and was playing around with her like a baby with a new toy. Evans used a charm to make it let her go. I was—rather—I confess—rather distinctively—ashamed. That I could not do better than a mere Muggleborn—**

**Perhaps things did not go so well as I had written.**

**And at the end of the feast I for some reason felt a compulsion to**—**to go to that Wilson girl and talk to her**—**because I saw her eyes shine too brightly for a moment before she looked down again—**

**Never mind all that. I'm finally at Hogwarts! I can't let other people get in the way, not right now; can't let them ruin the mood—Hogwarts! Tomorrow starts the first day of school!**


	5. Chapter 4

**PRESENT: Midday of November.**

When Albus Dumbledore arrived at the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey was moving frantically around the patient's bed.

"He's stirring, like I said," she said when she noticed the gray-haired wizard. "It's rather intermittent, I believe, but he's slowly regaining consciousness."

"Have you called Horace?" Madam Pomfrey merely nodded, getting an assortment of potions ready. Dumbledore drew closer to the only patient in the room and inspected him. The gauze that had covered his entire body like a mummy the last time he'd seen him was gone. Now lay a pale patient, bony, weak, with no visible sign of muscle whatever. It would be a miracle if he could even lift a finger. Madam Pomfrey had evidently cut his black hair, but it was still messy and oily. His skin retained a pale glow that could only be obtained by lack of sunlight for a long period of time.

In short, he was a mess.

Dumbledore sighed, although no one heard this sigh from him. He could remember the boy, freshly dressed in Hogwarts uniform, who arrived with the arrogant swagger that came with the family name, who was Sorted with one of the longest deliberations that Dumbledore had seen the Hat make. The boy who secretly drew diagrams of original contraptions and spent hours mapping the sky. Whose eyes would spark momentarily whenever Flitwick gave him a compliment; but that spark would be gone a second later. The boy who, despite every outer appearance he gave, was deeply committed to his loved ones.

"Anna," a soft whisper came, barely audible, but Dumbledore had heard it. He watched as the young man's lips formed the last syllable, drawing out the a with a prolonged silence. Dumbledore felt the young man's mind; flashes of the his life passed through, one no slower than the other. Poppy was right; he was gaining consciousness. One image kept reappearing, a face of a girl, just on the brink of womanhood, smiling a wide, warm smile. Her brown hair blew into her face, but the light in her eyes were still very much visible.

"I thought you would bring her, Albus," Madam Pomfrey did not try to hide the chide and disappointment.

"I thought it would be best that he tell her himself," Dumbledore replied easily, having anticipated this question. Then again, there were few things that he did not anticipate.

The patient lying in front of him... Dumbledore could not tell if this was an anticipated situation.

"People recover better when the ones they care about are near them, you know," Poppy was not ready to let this matter go. Dumbledore smiled.

"And this, my dear Madam Pomfrey, from someone who is infamous for keeping the visitors away."

Madam Pomfrey's cheeks reddened slightly. "That's different," she said, wiping her forehead with her apron.

"I'm here, I'm here!" Horace Slughorn's bombastic voice was not to be mistaken. "Although why, who knows... oh," his face was a curious mask of relief and fright.

"It's a crucial process, Horace," Madam Pomfrey's voice was now even, almost calm. "He's going to have only one shot at this."

"That much I can see," Horace replied, now sliding a scientific finger across the young man's cheek. "Induced coma?"

"Not exactly." Madam Pomfrey paused. "He put himself in a state like this, I believe."

"_He_ did?" the incredulity in Horace's voice was tangible.

"Sometimes... when one knows it has taken too much toll... the mind shuts itself down. It is a healing process," Dumbledore peaked through the young man's mind once more. The flashes were coming more quickly now, his mind securing itself against the shock of waking up.

His own mind flashed, inadvertently, to the cave.

Dumbledore was not someone who hurried. No, that was not it—he was not someone who showed that he was hurrying. In the midst of the war, everything had to be done quickly and precisely.

He was hurrying then.

When he had managed to fish the body out of the water after dispelling a hoard of Inferi, it was barely recognizable. The dark magic imposed on Inferi had done its work: skin torn away, revealing raw muscles and bones, fabrics of his former clothing sticking at odd places.

Miraculously, the boy was still breathing. He hand was clutching something, a dead man's grip. Dumbledore did not try to pry it open. However, the hand opened itself as the boy's consciousness faded.

A single, elegant ring, fit for a woman's finger rather than a man's.

The said ring was still next to the night stand beside the bed the said boy was lying on. Dumbledore had to admit that, despite the circumstances back then, he was disappointed. Had the young man not succeeded in getting the Horcrux? Yet, Dumbledore knew the young man, knew him from the moment he entered Hogwarts at eleven; he was no fool.

"We're ready," Horace announced, breaking Dumbledore's short reverie.

"Of course," Dumbledore answered quickly. "Where would you like me, Poppy?"

"Right now, Albus, all you can do is oversee how it goes," she said, carefully observing the patient's profile. "Now, Horace, I'm going to wake him up—_Rennervate_—and his body is immediately going to go into shock, _if_ his nerve systems are still functional. You cannot spare more than ten seconds—Horace, are you listening?" Madam Pomfrey asked, frowning at the old Professor, whose fingers were shaking.

"I simply cannot fathom," Slughorn said hoarsely, "how he came to be in this state. It seems like a work of Inferi—'course, knew he had some bad associations, but really... I know this boy, I taught him... The last time I'd seen him, he was standing up straight, tall, looking exceptionally handsome... Used to give me seemingly polite answers, but, hours later, you would get the real message... Charming... And now..."

"We don't have time for this, Horace," came Madam Pomfrey's impatient voice. "I remember him, too, he was one of the most injured Quidditch players I've seen. Went through every foul potion I gave him with a small smile. But that's _not the point._" Madam Pomfrey's sharp reproach shook Slughorn on the shoulder.

"Of course, Poppy... excuse me," he answered softly.

"Now, I'm going to wake him up. You cannot spare more than a few seconds before administering the first potion. Do you have that in hand?"

"Yes," now Slughorn seemed fully focused. "I'm going to cast the first spell—getting rid of the last traces of dark magic. We know where to go from here."

"Good," Madam Pomfrey muttered, and, pointing her wand at the young man's forehead, said, "Rennervate."

"Quickly," Madam Pomfrey hissed, but Slughorn was already there, casting the first spell to work the potion into the body.

A groan came from the young man's lips.

"It's a painful detoxication process," Slughorn supplied to no one in particular. "It's going to hurt—why didn't we give him pain medication beforehand, Poppy?"

"His mind needs time to process what is happening to his body," Dumbledore said gravely. "He can endure it, I am certain of it."

"The potion seems to be on its course," Madam Pomfrey said. "Next, Horace."

The process took an hour and a half in total, which felt like minutes to those in the Hospital Wing. Sometimes, it took time for the potion to work its way through the young man's system before anyone could try anything else. A delicate balance had to be kept between magical healing and natural healing—or so Dumbledore had insisted upon it when the three of them had went over the plan. By the end of three half-hours, Madam Pomfrey and Slughorn sat on the nearby stool, exhausted, looking desperately into the young man's face. Dumbledore kept his distance. He had much in store for the young man.

The young man's eyes opened, revealing a shock of gray. Dumbledore stepped forward.

"Welcome back to the world, Mr. Black," he said softly.

* * *

"How have you been, Mr. Black?" Regulus looked up from his book to find a tower of olive wizard robe and silver beard. Regulus raised his eyebrow; he had not seen Dumbledore since the day he'd woken up.

"As expected, Professor," he answered easily enough, but he could still feel the restrain of muscles on his face. "How are you this fine evening?"

"Quite well, thank you," Dumbledore replied.

It had been a week since Regulus had found himself in the Hospital Wing. Odd, he thought, that of all the places he thought he would go to after death, Hospital Wing was not one of them. It did not hold many fond memories for him; mostly swallowing disgusting potions after a particularly unsuccessful Quidditch match, or watching his teammate forcing down a disgusting potion after a particularly unsuccessful Quidditch match. Then the Professor's words registered with him: Welcome back.

Surely, _Dumbledore_ had not died during the war. The thought was laughable. There was something about the wizard's unnervingly wise, old blue eyes that spoke of invincibility.

The next thought, put quite simply: _crap_.

He was alive. He should've been jubilant, but he found himself suddenly very, very tired. He knew nothing—quite literally nothing. Where his life was heading. How the war was going. Who was dead and who was alive. How long he had been bed-ridden. Had Kreature managed the task? He had not been hopeful, but he could think only little beyond his demise at the time. His last few weeks had been focused, in fact, solely upon the suicide mission—and regrets, heaps of regrets that he kept at bay, lest he would be overcome by them.

Suicidal. An option that he would never have chosen for himself normally. The most shameful way to die, unable to deal with himself. He would have preferred a hero's death, and almost convinced himself, at times, that he would be dying a hero; but the cold truth was, he was running away.

Tired, uncertain, his eyes closed again, unable to take anything else in. Just before he fell into a deep sleep, he thought he saw a pair of smiling golden eyes.

When he woke up again, Regulus realized exactly why he had felt so tired and it added a new level of humiliation to his already mountain-sized shame. He could not move. His body lacked the muscle, and even if he had them, his brain was, to use Madam Pomfrey's words, disconnected from the rest of his body.

It was nothing unusual, Madam Pomfrey explained briskly, but Regulus could discern the tremor in her fingers, the worry. He had been bed-ridden for the past seven months. Lack of movement and nourishment could only lead to a weak body. As for the nerves... he would have to train himself back.

At first Regulus did not quite realize what she'd meant by _train_.

He looked, almost out of habit, at the two bars at the other side of his bed.

"Have you made any progress with movement?" There was Dumbledore, no-nonsense, almost blunt. Yet, Regulus knew that the professor could be as subtle as he wished to be; he was almost thankful for the straight-out questions about his recovery, finding them infinitely preferable to Slughorn's lament-filled sighs.

"I seem to be able to turn a page of a book now," Regulus answered drily. "Then again, Madam Pomfrey had informed me that my injury was more concentrated on my legs. One must give it time, I suppose. However, I did notice that I took up much of her time, and consequently the students didn't seem to be getting enough attention."

"You have been a student at Hogwarts," Dumbledore replied. "Hogwarts welcomes back her students, former or current."

"I am supposed to be dead," Regulus answered after a while, almost to himself. He reached unconsciously to the ring on his pinky finger again. He had been, despite everything, vastly relieved when he found the golden band when he woke up.

"Has any student seen you?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, sir," he answered quietly. "Mostly because I keep to class hours. However, they grow curious."

"Hogwarts is currently quite free of any marauders or other pranksters," Dumbledore said. "The school is quiet now—it is refreshing, most Professors say, but, I think, secretly they miss the chaos."

"The war is over," Regulus answered. "Everything is as it should be."

"Hardly," Dumbledore fixed him with his typical gaze that suddenly made Regulus want to look away. Instead, Regulus gazed steadily into the moon-shaped patterns on Dumbledore's robes near his shoulder, closing his book.

"Your letter—" Dumbledore began.

"It's taken care of," Regulus said.

"We both know, Mr. Black, that is far from the truth."

For a few seconds, two wizards kept silent, staring into each other. Regulus looked at Dumbledore's face, his half-moon spectacles, old eyes, hooked nose, long beard, everything. He then remembered—

Ah. One must not venture down that road. He looked away quickly, trying to distract himself. His fingers found the ring again, and he turned it around a few times, exercising his fingers.

"It was very brave, what you had done."

This was unexpected, and Regulus looked up, surprised, and found the Professor's face as grave as ever.

Not wishing to show a pleasure at his words, Regulus said, disdainfully, "A compliment, perhaps, to a Gryffindor, but to myself—"

"You know that Voldemort is far from defeated."

"Do not say his name," Regulus said.

"Fear is only in the name, Regulus." This was the first time that Regulus could think of that Dumbledore had called him by his first name. So they were on first-term basis, were they? He was not a member of the Order—he was not in Dumbledore's circle. No matter how Dumbledore tried to pretend otherwise, it wasn't going to change.

"It is not fear," Regulus said through gritted teeth "It is precaution." No. It was habit. It was a mask. It was a habit. Master turned into a villain. Every appellation that he once had thought to be true had crumbled down to dust, and Regulus was there, trying to pick up the remnants of what remained. Call him the Dark Lord or Voldemort, it didn't matter to him, not truly. However, he was trying to stick to conventions. A cowardly act, he berated himself inwardly.

"Have you secured the Horcrux?" Dumbledore asked, still grave, expression still unreadable.

"Are we in danger of being overheard?" Regulus asked.

"Everyone inside the castle is asleep, Mr. Black, except for you and I." A slight amusement in Dumbledore's voice was not unnoticed by Regulus and he looked at the clock on his bedside table. 12:13. The book had engrossed him.

"It is with my house-elf." Regulus answered, watching the old man's face. It did not change.

"A house-elf who believes that his master is dead."

"I had ordered him to destroy it," Regulus felt like making an excuse, and he kept on going. Some part of him tried to stop it, but— "Kreature has magic, or rather, he had it, but my mother had beat it out of him; Kreature refrains from using it now. He would not succeed in accomplishing the task—I wish I had remembered to order him from punishing himself—but at least, he would keep it secure. For the time being." He was twisting the ring again.

"Such the matter stands now." Dumbledore looked out the window, and then he sat down on a chair next to his bed. Regulus didn't know why he did not move the chair out of the way.

Oh, yes. Because he couldn't.

With ironic thoughts, he looked at his professor.

"The war is over, as you know," Dumbledore said. Regulus nodded.

"I have been reading the Daily Prophet," he said. "Although, I found Madam Pomfrey's own stories much more... detailed."

Dumbledore chuckled. "The issue stands: as long as Horcruxes exist, Lord Voldemort lives—and he shall find a way to come back."

"Horcruxes?" Regulus raised an eyebrow, an act which he used to be able to accomplish with annoying precision. Used to.

"I was under impression that you yourself had a same suspicion. Your letter-"

"You keep mentioning the letter," Regulus muttered.

"It has been instrumental," Dumbledore said. "Your reasonings were very... enlightening."

"Did you not have your own suspicions, Professor?" Regulus said wryly.

"Many," Dumbledore replied. "But now things are clear. And it is also clear: other Horcruxes must be found and destroyed."

"Indeed," Regulus answered, trying to look bored.

"Surely it has been on your mind," Dumbledore said.

"On my mind?" Regulus' voice suddenly raised alarmingly. "_On my mind?_ It had been on my mind before the blasted lake. It has been on my mind, from the waking moment, as though it has a charm of its own. It's possessing me. Professor, can you not see that?" Regulus looked away again, dissatisfied with himself. There was much that he'd been bottling up, yes, much frustration and humiliation and despondency, but Dumbledore was hardly the one who would lend a comforting ear with a steaming mug of Butterbeer in hand. Anyhow, his feelings were inconsequential. There were bigger things at stake. Empty your mind, Regulus told himself the comment he had employed while studying occlumency. Empty. The. Merlindammed. Mind.

"It is your choice, Regulus," Dumbledore said calmly. "But by now, you must know why I am here."

Regulus looked down at the ring.

It was a common ring, but he had thought of her when he'd bought it impulsively, not knowing why it reminded him of her. On a simple gold band lay four small diamonds like a flower. No engraving. It had not been terribly expensive, and his mother would have surely scoffed at his poor, unstylish choice. He, too, found himself doubting himself, as there had been no reason for the purchase; he had no wife or fiancee; was courting no one; devoted to the Dark Lord and his ideals. She and he had broken up more than a year ago. There had been no reason, no logical reason at all...

"I must destroy them," he said, his voice a little hoarse. He looked at the ring again. he had taken it off his finger and was now turning it between his fingertips.

"Will you?" Dumbledore asked.

Regulus smiled weakly, the first smile since he'd woken up.

"Who else?" he asked.

"I cannot—I refuse to—let anybody else take on this... task," Regulus frowned, knowing that it would be far more unpleasant than a simple task. "We have all suffered enough." The ring was turning faster and faster now. Regulus noted, at the back of his mind, that his hands, at least, were now functional.

"And you must take on this quest," Dumbledore said firmly.

"Must?" Regulus' eyebrows traveled across his forehead. "There's no must about it... Or perhaps there is..." he made a move put the book on his laps onto his night table. Dumbledore did not help. Regulus grabbed the book—this task now he could accomplish—but lifting it was a whole different thing. His arm, his from the shoulder socket to his wrists, shook violently and refused to move. Regulus tightened the grip on the book and gritted his teeth. He refused to look at Dumbledore, just as he refused to look at Madam Pomfrey whenever he practiced walking, using the two bars to support his upper body. Humiliation—perhaps. Embarrassment was possibly what he felt. He knew that it was no fault of his own that he was attacked by Inferi—however, everything that happened from his becoming a Death Eater felt like his fault, and he could not help blaming himself for every bad thing that had happened—and there had been quite a few of them.

Quite frankly—and Regulus found this rather unbelievable—he found this "rehabilitation" meditative. Not redeeming, no, not that much—he wasn't doing anything to correct his wrongs—but he was suffering. He was going through things that he never thought he would go through. This was a different kind of pain he endured as a Death Eater. Rather, it felt like wiping off the old slate. He couldn't have a new, fresh slate—it was too late for that—but trying what he could to start anew. Every step he took, or tried to take, did make him feel hopeless at times, but at other times, he imagined himself to be a baby, learning to walk for the first time. Difficult at first. But perhaps things would turn out to be better than before. Stronger. Wiser.

The book was finally on the table. Securely, right in the middle, instead of the edge, even though it would've been easier to put it on the edge. Satisfied, Regulus looked back at Dumbledore.

"I must gather information," Regulus said finally, having used the little exercise to gather his thoughts.

"After I regain my body, that is. How many Horcruxes there are, what they look like, as well as the nature of the Horcruxes. I'm afraid that my knowledge of them is sparse—although, I'm not certain if that is necessarily a _bad_ thing," he smiled a grimace. "What they look like—the one in the lake was the Salazar's locket. Knowing Voldemort, he _would_ use something special..." Regulus drifted off, his gaze back on his book. _Magical Objects throughout History_.

"I see you have already started your search," Dumbledore said.

"No, sir—I was simply getting ready." Regulus looked at Dumbledore, and was surprised to find the old man gauging him, apparently deep in thought.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. Some seconds ticked by. "Well, I would say that we covered enough grounds for today," Dumbledore stood up from his chair. "I can't keep you awake any longer; you must get your rest, or Madam Pomfrey would be after my beard." Dumbledore chuckled, and Regulus was surprised to find himself smiling.

"When you feel that you are ready, Mr. Black, please come to my office. I believe you know where it is?" Dumbledore turned around, ready to leave.

"May I ask why, Professor?" Regulus could not help asking.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrow, a perfect imitation of Regulus' previous attempt. It was unnerving.

"Why, we must gather information to come to a conclusion," he said. "Now—Good night, Mr. Black."


	6. Chapter 5

Anna stabbed at the kidney pie in front of her, exhaling slowly, lest anyone should hear her.

It had been almost three weeks since she'd arrived at Hogwarts, and now she could navigate the castle without being five minutes late to class or stepping on an invisible stair and trying to get her stuck leg out of a simmering nothingness—which, as sad as she was to admit, had happened more frequently than she'd like to remember during her first week and a half. Once she had entered the classroom, believing that she was on the fourth floor Transfiguration classroom, and came face-to-face with a couple in a rather compromising position that Anna was quite certain that she did not wish to have seen or known, and, after stammering out an excuse—to which an older girl told her, rather patiently, that she was in fact on the third floor—she left, red-faced and flustered, to find the correct classroom—only to arrive late to the first Transfiguration class with McGongall, and loosing five points from the Slytherin for her troubles.

This did nothing to promote herself amongst her peers.

Anna glumly turned a page from her Potions textbook, jotting down a few notes on a spare sheet of parchment. The kidney pie would've tasted delicious had she been in a better mood and did not spend the last half hour disseminating it to deadly coldness; but the fact is that Anna was not particularly hungry and chocolate cake did little to help her mood. Instead, she spent most of her time focusing on her studies—or pretending to focus on her studies when she tried to hide the fact that she was sitting awkwardly alone in the Great Hall while other students talked livelily amongst themselves. She was not too far behind her work; every one here, even the ones who came from magical families, had never used a wand properly before, and even though some may know a few incantations, most of them, in general, were foreign to the topics at hand.

However, some were simply _comfortable_ with their abilities. They took it for granted and did not flinch away or jump surprised whenever something happened like Anna did. They treated it like gravity, something that just is in the natural world. Anna found it difficult to be sympathetic to this attitude, and would have spent some time with Muggle-born students who were just as surprised as she was—it was not very difficult to discern them from other students—but everyone avoided her on principle, or scowled at her direction, because the lapel of her cloak was green and silver, the mark of a Slytherin.

This mark did not in any way ensure that she would be welcome in her House. Rebecca Goyle and Gwennan Rookwood barely acknowledged her presence despite the fact that they shared a dorm together. Anna received a bed on the far right side of the dorm from the doorway, and there was an invisible line that separated the room into two sections, Anna's and the Purebloods. Boys had turned out hardly better; Avery and Mulciber were barely aware of her, and when aware, contemptuous; Snape did not seem to care that she may not be a Pureblood, but he did not, in fact, seem like someone who _cared_ much about anything, perhaps except his potions and a certain red-headed Gryffindor; Montague was better, sometimes stopping by and saying hello when the sky was clear and everyone's mood was considerably uplifted; Regulus, whom she had rather counted on being nicer to her, ignored her altogether. However, this seemed like a usual manner with which he seemed to treat everybody. Regulus did not talk much; look at anybody for more than two seconds; performed every action with precision, whether it was eating, going to classes, levitating a feather or reading in the library.

Anna looked up from Potions textbook, disgruntled. This wouldn't impress Slughorn, anyhow, and she'd already covered the materials the night before, just to be on the safe side. Professor Slughorn, who was the head of the Slytherin, seemed to have taken a leaf out of his students' book and ignored her completely. He had looked her in the eye once; on the first day of class, when he had jovially approached her, he had taken one look at her face and turned his head sideways, his pudgy cheeks ashen, muttering something about having a good first year. He was forced again to call her name during the roll call on her first Potions class, but he had refused to smile at her as he'd smiled at every other student. He never noticed her in his classes, even though, as Anna thought somewhat petulantly, her potions were quite as good as Evans' or Snape's. Certainly it was better than the disaster the two boys at Gryffindor—James Potter and Sirius Black, the brother of Regulus Black—were making, but Slughorn wasted no time in slathering them with attention.

It was not that Anna was a particularly vain or a student anxious to please her teachers; she simply wished that someone would spare her a second glance.

Sighing, she took out her timetable again, though she had the contents memorized in her mind. Afternoon—History of Magic and Charms. However, due to a flying lesson that every first year is supposed to participate in, their original classes were cancelled. It was a pity; Anna rather liked the class, even though every other student found it boring—it was interesting how wizards had their own society that still intermingled with that of Muggles, goblins and whatnot. It was all so new, all so fresh; of course she found it interesting, she thought rebelliously whenever she was writing an essay for Professor Beans, her history teacher, who, if one could get past the initial drowsiness, gave quite droll comments every once in a while.

Anna was not looking forward to the flying lesson. Sure, the thought of flying like a bird was exciting; but whenever Anna imagined herself flying in midair, with nothing to support her but a single broomstick—it had taken her a while to realize that they _were_ going to use brooms—the feeling of panic set in her heart and she had to look down to make sure that her feet were firmly attached to the ground. Also, she did not wish to put herself on a public display to be ridiculed at when she was almost certain that she would fail at flying.

However, the attendance was mandatory and Anna found her feet dragging her to the Quidditch pitch, where she sometimes came to think when a team wasn't practicing. It was nice there; you could see the mountains and the lakes from the seats.

Almost all the students were already there, and there was excitement buzzing in the air. Anna quickly located the group of Slytheirns huddled in the corner, whispering amongst themselves as usual. Anna considered walking to their direction, but decided that she would stand rooted to where she was.

"Quiet, all of you!" shouted a woman with a hooked nose and short brown hair that seemed windswept. All the students looked at her, anticipating.

"I am Madam Hooch, and I will be instructing you through your flying experience. I realize that for some of you, this may not be your first time flying. However, many uninstructed wizards have been involved in air accidents because of their improper form and disorderly style. Now, get in the line..." Students began to move into two separate lines, and Anna gingerly stood next to Rebecca at the end of the line, facing a thin sandy-haired boy with amber eyes. Anna thought she'd seen the boy in the library a couple of times before, but couldn't place his name.

The boy caught her looking at him. He smiled a small smile; Anna smiled back timidly.

"Now, everyone, extend your hand and say, up..." Madam Hooch was saying, and Anna dutifully extended her hand over the broom that lay inanimate on the ground. Even though she didn't know much about brooms, she thought that hers looked rather shabby. Feeling ridiculous, but seeing others doing it around her, she said,

"Up!" To her surprise, the broom responded, bringing itself to her grip. Anna looked around. A few students were still struggling; Lily and Severus, to her surprise, was still at it. Lily was rather impatiently telling her broom to come up, the red edges of her ear the only indication of her embarrassment; Severus was scowling at the brown stick, as though he couldn't care at all whether the broom chose to come to him or not.

"Scowling will get you nowhere, Snivellus!" came a taunting voice and Anna turned to see James Potter looking gleefully at Severus. Now Severus turned his scowl to James.

"Shut it, Potter," Severus growled back.

"Professor, professor!" came an excited voice, in a form of a second-year Hufflepuff running toward the Quidditch pitch. All the students turned around to look at him as he stood there puffing, his chest heaving at the effort of the exercise.

"What is it, Higgins?" Madam Hooch asked curtly.

"It's—the—Bludger—"" Higgins was actually clutching his chest now, doubling up.

"_What_ Bludger, Higgins?" impatience was beginning to show in Madam Hooch's voice.

"We don't know! There's a rogue Bludger—we don't know where it came from! And now it's bouncing off the hallways, destroying every armor in sight—"" now Higgins actually fell to the ground. "Oh," he said faintly and closed his eyes, resting.

"Where, Higgins?"

"We last saw it on the sixth floor corridor," Higgins' voice was beginning to gain strength. "It was going north."

Madam Hooch turned to the first years. "Stay where you are. If I see when I come back that you have gotten out of line…" she looked around them threateningly. "There will be consequences." Then she disappeared into the castle. Excited murmur broke out amongst students.

"Oh, I wish we could've seen that," Potter was crackling up, clutching his abdomen. His glasses were askew from laughing so hard.

"You know where it's going to go," Sirius Black answered, sounding bored. However, there was a grin on his face.

"'Course," Potter said, now actual tears streaming down his face. "The look on his face when the old Sluggy sees the Bludger knocking off every pot and kettle in the dungeon—oh, I hate to miss it."

"Did you know," Black said casually, "that the third years are brewing the Swelling Potion? Slytherins and Ravenclaws, now less."

"Pity you couldn't be there, Goyle," Potter said. Now, the entire class was listening to what they were saying, as it was obvious that the two boys had done it, and there was no use speculating amongst themselves. They had gone quiet. "Would've made much improvement on you, I'm sure." Anna looked at the girl standing next to her. Rebecca Goyle was fidgeting in her spot, looking down at her shoes. Her cheeks had gone bright pink. Anna's first impressions of her was that Rebecca would be less biting than Gwennan, after looking at her wide eyes and curly brown hair. Her cheeks were rounder than most girls her age, and there was something bland about her nose, but Rebecca was by no means ugly—Anna thought she was quite pleasant to look at, actually.

"Indeed," Black agreed. "Even Swelling Potion would look better than the current state."

"Leave her alone," Anna found herself saying—quite loudly. Then she tried to mask her surprise at her boldness. She, who had herself never stood up to a bully—she distinctly remembered running away every time they came within a mile radius of her. It felt as though the years of suppression had gotten into her—or rather, out of her. She straightened her back, trying to work out a courage to not back down.

"Oh?" Black raised a lazy eyebrow. "And who are _you_?"

_I'm nobody_, Anna wanted to say, looking at the utter confident expression on Black's face and the incredulous expression everyone was looking at her with. She just really wanted to get out of the attention. "I think the actual question would be, who are _you_ to be so rude to a girl? To anyone, really." Her voice came out cooler than she thought possible.

Potter took a menacing step toward her. "Don't stick your nose into someone else's business, Wilson," he said cooly.

"Stop being an arrogant bully, then," Anna spat out. James Potter's cheeks flushed violently.

"Arrogant bully? What, for putting people in their places?" He shouted, and, to her surprise, she saw people assenting to what he was saying. Was it that he was making fun of a Slytherin that appealed to them, or just the fact that James Potter always seemed to be on the top of the things? When she had focused onto Potter again, she realized that he had drawn out his wand.

"You're constantly making fun of Severus, putting down every girl that isn't Evans, hexing any Slytherin that _isn't armed_, and pulling pranks as if the day wouldn't end without one. If you ask me, that's an arrogant bully."

"Nobody asked you," Black said, his lips curling up into a disdainful smile. "What are you, anyway? Just some lonely girl—"

"Shut up, Sirius," the unexpected voice came from the far end, where the Slytherin boys had been standing quietly until now. Anna was furious at them, too, letting Gryffindors antagonize them without protecting the students in their house.

"Oh? Are you actually _talking_, Regulus?I thought you were incapable of such low act." Black, if anything, seemed delighted that his brother had joined the squabble.

"Leave her alone. She's done nothing to you," came a calm response. Anna turned her head to look at Regulus, who had done nothing to acknowledge her presence since the Sorting, but it was impossible to see his face with other students congregated around him.

Black, if anything, seemed more gleeful. "Do you _like_ her, Reg?" he said, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Does little Reggie have a tiny little crush?" he asked in falsetto. Boys laughed.

"I'm just tired of your antiques," Regulus answered, and now Anna could see him as he drew closer to Sirius. His face was as pale as ever, and he seemed unperturbed as he regarded his brother; however, Anna saw his hands clenched into fists. "You're fond of beating people up, no? I must say that it _is_ a display of great bravery, picking on someone who can't fight back."

"Like you know anything about bravery," Black sneered. "You're the one who was to timid to jump off the fence and ran to _Mommy's_ skirts whenever a rose petal fell from the bush—"

"Jealous, Sirius? Of such little things?" Now Regulus was sneering, too; Anna, for some reason, found herself hating that sneer, even more than the sneer on Black's face. It was just wrong.

"You—" Black made a move to have a go at his brother, but thankfully, this was when the students heard Madam Hooch's sharp voice.

"Potter! Black! Detention tonight! Professor Slughorn would very much like a hand in cleaning up the Potion classroom, I'm sure!"

* * *

Anna stepped into the bathroom timidly, not having used the one in the second floor before.

The washing place was in the middle, standing out like a fountain in a garden. She could hear soft sobbing coming from the farthest left, and she tread softly, not wanting to surprise Rebecca.

"Rebecca?" she knocked on the door of the stall.

"Go away," a choked voice came from inside.

"It's Anna," Anna said unnecessarily. It was foreign to her; usually, she was on the crying end of the stall, and no one had come after her. "I know you don't really want to see anyone right now, but I just wanted to know if you were okay."

"I'm fine." The sobbing seemed to have ceased, but Rebecca could simply be holding her breath.

"I have chocolate, if you want some," Anna immediately felt foolish for saying it, but it was already out there. "My mom sent me a couple of dozen. You know, to cheer me up. I've found it helpful."

The stall door slowly creaked open and Anna came face to face with a blotchy face of Rebecca Goyle. Her eyes were puffy and the sleeves of her robes were messy from wiping her face.

"A tissue might be better," Anna quickly changed. Rebecca made a sound that sounded like a choked laugh. They sat there, Anna sitting awkwardly on the stone floor, handing her tissues, and Rebecca crouched on the toilet. The silence was uncomfortable, but Anna somehow suspected that talking would be even worse.

"Thank you," Rebecca suddenly said quietly, and Anna looked at her, surprised. She was peeking from behind her arms, but when their eyes met, she lowered them, looking at Anna more fully in the face.

"No one's ever defended me before," Rebecca went on. "I mean, it wasn't the first time I heard something like that, but you were the first to tell them off. Even my parents—" Rebecca stopped abruptly and looked away. Anna fidgeted, uncomfortable.

"Well, I've never had anyone come to my defense, either, and I know how that feels, so..." she shrugged, trying to look less bothered than she felt. Rebecca smiled at her hesitantly.

"Thank you," she repeated.

"You're welcome," Anna replied.

* * *

"But you have to promise that you'll never, _ever_ tell."

It had been some weeks since the first flying lesson, and Anna and Rebecca were walking from the Dungeons to the Great Hall. It was a particularly chilly October and the promise of warm food, the scent of meat and roasted vegetables that wafted its way through the hallways, was especially promising. The two huddled together, quickening their pace. The dungeons, although cool during the summer, was not pleasant as the winter drew closer.

"Who on earth would I tell?" Anna asked, laughing incredulously.

"Not even Gwen." Rebecca's face, on the other hand, was serious.

"I thought Gwennan knew everything."

"Maybe she does. But I've never expressly told her, you see." A smile was twitching its way up Rebecca's face and Anna grinned.

"Come on, spill," Anna said, poking at her friend's shoulder.

"All right," Rebecca took a big breath, and motioned Anna to come closer. Into her ear she whispered something. Anna's expression changed from amused to horrified as they entered the Great Hall.

"No!" she said, looking disbelievingly at Rebecca.

"What!" Rebecca said, looking also disbelieving.

"Not him!"

"You said you wouldn't judge!"

"Yes, but I thought, when you said you had a crush, it wouldn't be someone as idiotic and insufferable as Sirius Bla—" Anna was stopped short by Rebecca's hand covering her mouth.

"Shh!" she said, looking around. "You said you wouldn't tell!"

"No one's listening!" Anna protested, and they sat themselves across from Gwennan.

"Hello," Anna said politely.

"Hi," she replied before getting back to her dinner.

Things were still rather stiff with Gwennan. Rebecca had explained this to her, amongst many other things: Rookwoods were higher up the status, she said, than the Goyles, and it wasn't entirely odd of her to look down at the pair of them. There were only a handful who were above the Rookwoods; the Malfoys, for example, although their power came more from recent financial and political influence, Lestranges, Flints and the Blacks, who, although they had no visible political influence, was one of the oldest bunches there was for as long as people could remember. Then there were those who were minor, but still purebloods: Averys, Goyles, Montagues, Carrows, etc, etc.

"What about the Wilsons?" Anna had asked, curious.

"They're blood-traitors," Rebecca said matter-of-factly. "They don't count."

Anna looked at her uncomprehendingly.

"If we're being entirely honest with ourselves, there are many pureblood families that are old. The Weasleys, for one thing, or the Potters. The Wilsons, too. But they said that they don't care about blood lineage. So we don't consider their blood. Do you see?"

"So what, they're beneath you?" Anna asked, indignant. She had surmised as much from her own observations, but it was different to actually hear it from someone.

Rebecca shrugged, but, looking at Anna's expression, immediately tried to placate her.

"Look, I think you're okay, Anna. I mean, you're mom's a blood-traitor, but she still a pureblood, and your dad's definitely a pureblood. You don't know much about all this, but you're learning, you know?"

"Wait," Anna said, frowning. "How do you know whether my father is a pureblood or not?"

Rebecca now had the grace to look a little abashed. "I asked my mom."

Anna's eyebrows rose high.

"Well, you said you didn't know anything about your dad," Rebecca argued defensively. "So Gwen and I sent letters to our parents. Mom says that people don't speak of it anymore. That _always_ means that there was a scandal somewhere." Rebecca's eyes were starting to gleam. "I bet there's a story there. A good one, too."

"I don't know about that," Anna said crossly. "My mom never talks about my father."

Rebecca was looking at her. With pity or sympathy, Anna couldn't really tell, and she didn't really want to know.

"I'll write to mom and ask about it," Rebecca offered. "I know they say 'we don't talk about it,' but really they're dying to. Maybe she'll tell us more about your dad."

So they were waiting for a letter from Mrs. Goyle, and meanwhile, Anna could see that Gwennan, as distant and stiff as she was, would not be tolerating Anna's presence in her life had it not been for the fact that she had become Rebecca's friend, and as Rebecca's original friend, she had to accept Anna.

It did not seem to mean, however, that she didn't feel compelled to shoot her a dirty glance every time she got a chance. Anna mostly ignored this.

"Did anyone finish the essay for Flitwick?" Rebecca said to no one in particular. "It's horrible."

"It's not so bad, once you get the three principles of movement," Anna said. "We could go over it together, if you'd like."

Rebecca frowned distastefully. "I don't feel like studying tonight." Anna shrugged, feeling that her friend's capricious mood wouldn't work well with reason.

"So, you didn't finish telling me about, you know," Anna gestured discreetly toward the Gryffindor table.

"Right now? It's too public!" Despite her protests Rebecca's cheeks were growing redder.

"Well, if we're all secretive in an alcove, then people might really suspect that something exciting is happening!"

"I suppose," Rebecca sighed, but she was smiling. "Well, we've seen each other since we were young, of course—family gatherings parties and other stuff. "And he's always been so—"

"Insufferable," Anna supplied.

"No!" Rebecca said, laughing. "He's always been a bit rebellious, but really that just added to his charm, you know?"

Anna, who had yet to learn the charm of bad boys—really she preferred nice ones—shook her head slowly, taking a languid bite of a baked potato.

Rebecca sighed. "You're so _young_."

"Like you're any older than I am!" Anna said, indignant.

Rebecca brushed this comment off. "Anyway, I don't know exactly when it started," she went on. "It must have been when we were eight, at the Christmas party. His family's famous for throwing lavish parties, you know, and they live in London, which is a _very_ sought-after location. I was wearing a green gown and we were all having dinner at the big table, and he was wearing black dress robes with a silver vest..."


End file.
